Summer No Holiday
by BlueHorizon6
Summary: Thrown into residence with a very reluctant potions master, Harry has to compete with more than a creepy mansion and relentless, sleep disturbing nightmares in order to complete his training. Mentor fic.
1. From One Hell To Another

Summer No Holiday

Summary: Set after the Tri-wizard tournament and Voldemort's return to human form. Left without contact with the wizzarding world, Harry is depressed and miserable, riddled with nightmares as he begins the summer holidays at Privet Drive. However, with Dumbledore's decision to begin his training, Harry is subjected to far worse than few meals and blatant dismissal. Forced together by the seriousness of the task they have been set, Harry and Snape must find some way to communicate.

Chapter One

The cold air was biting. It clawed at Harry's face as he stumbled into the figure beside him, only to rebound painfully as his only anchor remained indifferent to his lack of co-ordination. His responding curse was swallowed up by the sudden, relentless gust that threw his hair into his face, obscuring his vision.

Staring blindly into the dirt beneath him, Harry clutched his glasses to his face and remained on his knees until an insistent hand clamped onto his shoulder. A set of fingers curled round his wrist to firmly pull him to his feet. Only when Harry ceased to sway did the pressure on his arm withdraw.

Harry rotated on his heel, absorbing his surroundings with wide-eyes. He clenched his jaw shut against his chattering teeth, pulling his jacket tight against his chest. For once, Harry appreciated his ridiculously baggy clothes, grateful for the little warmth they retained.

Unwilling to acknowledge the black clad figure behind him, he remained silent. However, his stubbornness gradually gave way to trepidation as he glanced at the darkening sky above them. Sunset was approaching rapidly. He knew he'd much rather be sheltered than stranded out, seemingly in the middle of nowhere, with ominous clouds hanging threateningly above his head.

Reluctantly, he recovered his previous distance and pointedly gathered his belongings, recovering them from their positions, sprawled in every direction.

''Professor?'' he prodded, unsuccessfully concealing his impatience.

Snape's head jerked in his direction, drawn from his reverie. He threw Harry a sharp, intolerant glance before drawing his collar up higher about his neck. With a small, irritable nod of acknowledgement, he strode on forwards, away from their apparation point, with Harry close at his heels.

It was one week ago that Harry had received his most recent form of contact with Dumbledore. It was the headmaster's letter that had landed him in his current predicament. Harry could recall the fatal words in perfect, agonizing detail as he stumbled after Snape.

Robes whipped left and right in front of him, torn in a ruthless pattern by the wind. Lifting his gaze from Snape's back, Harry glared at the greasy head of the potions master. He could not help but deeply resent the man's effortless grace and sense of balance, when every uneven turf and unsettled stone sent Harry to his knees.

Snape's own amusement with the increasing level of shabbiness that adorned Harry's already faded jeans, along with fresh cuts and bruises, was unmistakable, as was his unwillingness to offer assistance.

''Couldn't you have apparated us any closer?'' Harry complained, struggling to match the stride capable of Snape's fully developed limbs. Harry's recent growth spurt had left him feeling gangly and awkward. Though he was still very much short for his age, his stretched, unusually skinny legs gave the sensation of being far too tall for his body.

''Security, Potter,'' Snape replied briefly, as though the answer were simple. ''You may want to apparate directly into a house you have not stepped foot in for over a decade, but I certainly do not.''

''And of course,'' he added a moment later, glancing over his shoulder, his gaze lingering on Harry's scratched palms and bloody knees, ''one must consider a factor of entertainment.''

Harry tightened his lips, his eyes narrowing in intense dislike. Shouting himself hoarse at Snape, seething with frustration and crying over the unfairness of the world was a response he'd abandoned soon after his first year of Hogwarts. It was a form of outlet for his emotions Harry had yet to discover a replacement for.

A stitch made a quick residence in his side, courtesy of Snape's gradual, unnecessarily spiteful increase of speed. Harry considered ditching his trunk and walking on the shabby grass than ran along beside them, thereby avoiding the loose cobble. However, it was only too obvious that Snape would determine this practical solution a reflection of weakness, and use it as an excuse to tease further. Harry had decided, long before now, not to give in that easily.

Too many days of the summer had been spent laying around in weary confusion, as news of Voldemort failed to arrive and he was slowly alienated from his allies, one by one, for Harry to accept Snape's current unforgivable attitude with any patience. His misery and rejection had churned around inside of him, unchallenged, for too long for optimism to break the surface of his depression.

Harry did not even blame Snape. The man had always been cruel; it was to be expected. It was Dumbledore that bore the brunt of his anger. It was the older man's ridiculous, foolish request that he train with the worst teacher imaginable for the summer, in order to prepare him for his inevitable battle with Voldemort. Neither Harry nor Snape had much of a choice in the matter.

Harry cursed loudly, without censoring his language or manner of expression. The corners of Snape's eyes creased into a brief wince, but he did not comment. Harry guessed he felt very much the same.

With a dark, sideways glance at Snape, Harry cast his mind back to their departure from Privet Drive. It had begun, as Harry had predicted from the moment he'd make the bold decision to allow the Dursleys to remain ignorant of his new plans for the summer, with a series of foul language and firm rebukes.

''Boy, get down here. What have I told you about inviting... your kind into this house?''

Harry clasped his sweaty palms into his lap, his every muscle tensing. His uncle's tone was of familiar anger and intolerance.

He opened his mouth to call out an answer, but his voice stuck somewhere in the back of his throat, Dumbledore's letter clutched tightly in his left hand.

The pure look of loathing, emitted from Snape as Harry finally descended the stairs, was one that took even Vernon and a cowering Dudley, completely off guard.

''What is it that you wanted with the boy?'' Vernon asked, an edge of caution to his voice.

Snape's lip curled unpleasantly. ''What a question,'' he drawled, casting his eyes critically over Harry's thin form. ''Nothing pleasant I can assure you.''

Harry's heart thudded uncomfortably in his chest, as he matched the disdainful expression in the all too familiar pitless black eyes.

''Gather your things,'' Snape instructed, eyes drifting from his student's in order to glance more closely at the large man before him. ''We must depart immediately.''

Harry could not afford to loiter for the prolonged second that he did. Snape, with a sharp hiss, seemed to release a large amount of pent up frustration he'd been searching for the opportunity to release.

''Potter,'' he spat the word as if it was the foulest disease possible. ''I have a schedule to keep. You shall not delay it with your selfish impertinence.''

''I...'' Harry felt himself tongue-tied, the roof of his mouth unbearably dry and unresponsive to the reflex insults that he longed to throw back at his teacher. His palms, damp with sweat, shook at his sides as Snape's presence caused an unpleasant shiver to the run the length of his spine, wracking him with apprehension.

Such hesitation was dangerous in the presence of this man, and Harry felt himself cut down before he could move an inch.

''Move,'' Snape sneered, drawing out the word with exact precision, demanding respect and authority from his helplessly disobedient student. ''Time is not something that I have the luxury of now you've imposed yourself onto my summer."

Harry's face contorted into a defiant frown. ''I didn't-''

"Save it," Snape cut him off almost lazily, his hand sweeping through the air with impatience. "If you are not back down here in thirty seconds, I shall leave without you, and let the headmaster know that your utter incompetence kept you from an education. A predictable conclusion, I am aware, though professor Dumbledore, as niave as he remains, shall be far more disappointed with your inevitable failure than I. I suggest, therefore, that you exert some effort, Mr. Potter, into movement. Now.''

Harry stared at the unwelcome form of his potions master, and hated him more than ever for insulting him at a time like this, in front of his relatives and when he was obviously so unhappy. It wasn't as though Harry had expected a warm greeting, but for some reason Snape's cold, indifferent attitude, when he was already feeling so utterly terrible, cut deeper than he'd been prepared for.

The man looked exactly the same as ever. His hair was suffocated in grease and was lank, framing the all too familiar, severe face that could not possibly hold more distaste than at present. He was wearing heavy black robes, despite his presence in a muggle neighbourhood.

Before Harry could retort, Snape had raised an eyebrow, his lips tightening into a thin line. Harry knew better than to keep him waiting. He about turned and padded the familiar path to his room, breathing deeply.

Harry pointedly ignored his own reflection as he sorted through his few belongings. Dark, heavily bagged eyes, an unhealthy complexion, unwashed hair and hollow cheeks would have been a cause for concern if Snape had been any other member of the Order.

To his mentor-to-be however, his deterioration would merely serve as a perverse entertainment. Regardless, Harry would have felt much more confident stepping into the next phase of the summer with a little more health on his side. He should not have allowed his mind to be plagued by images of Cedric's lifeless body, and horrific graveyard scenes, as much as he had.

Not trusting his nephew's temper in the slightest, and reading correctly the warning signals from the stranger in his doorway, Vernon forced Snape inside, shutting the door behind him with a sharp snap.

Very reluctantly, Snape crossed the threshold, his eyes lingering distastefully on countless photos of a large, fat child covering the walls within the hallway. He did not need a great amount of insight to determine that this boy wasn't Harry.

Despite himself, Vernon's eyes were fixed on Snape, a curious expression adorning his flabby features.

"What is it, muggle?" Snape snapped finally, his attempt to ignore the unwanted attention failing fast.

"You may be a...'' Vernon begun hesitantly, a wide eyed Dudley peering over his shoulder.

''A wizard,'' Snape supplied impatiently.

Vernon winced sharply. ''If you say so... But you seem to have some sense about the boy. Nasty little wretch.'' He cast such a hateful glance in the direction in which Harry had disappeared, that Snape raised an eyebrow, following Vernon's gaze with reluctant curiosity, and something akin to mild surprise.

''You do not welcome the boy?'' he asked tonelessly.

Dudley made a whimpering sound from behind his father, but grew silent once more as Snape sent him a scathing glance, his eyes raking over his massive stomach with distaste.

''Welcome him?'' Vernon snorted, eyes narrowing. ''I never had any say in the matter. My wife and I have always had a clear picture of the boy. I'm so glad that you agree…Other… frea...wiz...members of your... cult,'' he paused, anxiously surveying Snape's reaction, but the man merely appeared bored. ''...They have been in this house… god forbid, and they've all treated the boy like he was half-way decent, but we know better. We have experience of his nasty little habits-"

"Rest assured, Mr. Dursley," came Snape's immediate reply, "Potter will receive no pampering or hero-worshipping from me. He may think incredibly highly of himself but he is as mediocre and arrogant as his father was."

Vernon nodded in firm agreement, beginning to feel that he could almost stand this man. "Right you are. And just so you know...'' He leaned in closer. ''You have our… encouragement, permission…whatever.. to use any means you wish on the boy, however extreme…"

The cruel glint in his eye left Snape with no question as to what he meant.

He eyed the larger man calculatingly. Admittedly, he was not what he'd expected from Harry Potter's relatives. He'd heard they were unpleasant people and that the boy disliked them, but his sympathy had always been with the muggles.

What was clearly being depicted, was not a effortless existence of pampering and endless indulgence, as Snape had assumed fitting for a child he considered so self-satisfied. In fact, it appeared to be the opposite. Harry had obviously struggled to find a place in this family. His role in the composed, clinically tidy muggle home seemed disturbingly unclear. Snape was not blind enough to ignore the blatant fact that, despite his previous accusations, Harry had suffered greatly for the absence of his true parents.

Before he could fathom a response, Harry had appeared at the top of the stairs, dragging his trunk and Hedwig behind him, his obvious depression heightening Snape's own.

Looking between two of his most hated people in the world, Harry despaired at his misfortune.

"Come on, Potter,'' Snape beckoned impatiently, masking his expression as he attempted rapidly to ignore the faded paint on the cupboard under the stairs, where the words 'Freak' had been scrawled untidily.

However, from the corner of his eye, the name demanded his attention.

Before he could restrain himself, he had brushed aside Vernon's elbow to narrow his eyes at the word. He was sure that the flap, approximately the right side for a plate, was not intended for a cat.

Harry did not need to follow Snape's gaze to understand the minutely horrified expression that dominated his teacher's features. When the man's eyes swept up and met his own, morbid curiosity creasing his forehead, Harry blinked and turned away.

''Look here, mister, I must insist-''

''Quiet,'' Snape hissed, cold eyes rooting a nervously babbling Vernon to the spot. He curled a finger in Harry's direction, urging him closer. ''Potter, spare us the dramatics. Come here. You shall learn, during our... time together, that tardiness is not exclusively an award collecting trait.''

Snape flicked his wand sharply, causing the case to fly from Harry's grip, land hard on his foot and fly down the stairs, deliberately unceremoniously onto the floor. The action was more to satisfy his own discomfort with allowing a moment or irrational pity on the boy's behalf, than to punish Harry, but the result was the same. Harry cried out in pain.

"Move, Potter!'' he snapped, as Harry clenched his teeth, eyes watering.

Vernon, his feelings towards the strange man abruptly converted to its former on the sight of magic, ushered him out also.

"You heard him, boy. Out! And I don't care what happens in the next few weeks, if he throws you out of his house, or if you leave, you're not to come back here, you hear? Not for anything. I don't want to see you darkening our doorstep again this summer."

Harry found himself out on said doorstep moments later, squinting into the sun, with his trunk and Hedwig clasped in opposite hands.

Snape marched purposefully away from him, following the curve of the pavement out of sight before Harry could even grasp at the situation. Swearing wildly, Harry blinked rapidly, secured his belongings more tightly and hurried after his new mentor.

Snape strode ahead, his robes whipping out behind him in a dramatic fashion. Harry rolled his eyes and followed the man at a slower pace.

The potion master glanced around as they walked with sharp, narrow eyes, uncomfortable in the humid air of the muggle street. His scowl deepened with each pace, as his fate was further sealed. There was no escaping the boy now.

He ignored Harry to the best of his abilities and took in, without emotion, the street in which 'The Boy Who Lived' had spent the better part of eleven years.

Harry, trailing behind, took a moment to appreciate how odd it looked with Snape gliding along the streets of Little Whinging. There was no question that he didn't belong. The mixing of his two worlds, in this way, was not something he could have envisioned using imagination alone. If there was ever anything that could have made his muggle world more unbearable, it was Snape's presence.

With a deep breath, Harry gathered the courage to do what he'd been anticipating all summer. He shot furtive glances on all sides, and then, with a moment's hesitation, moved swiftly to his teacher's side.

''Sir...'' he began, urgency clear in his voice. He paused here, waiting for the man's attention as they fell into step.

Snape inclined his head an inch in Harry's direction, raising an eyebrow.

Harry swallowed back his nerves, more than aware of the lack of sympathy with which his concerns would be met. ''What's happening? Where's Voldemort? Why's nobody allowed to tell me anything?''

Snape strode on silently, the tightening of his jaw the only reaction Harry received to his frantic questions.

''What?'' Harry cried, resisting the urge to fling his arms in the air and cry out at yet further disappointment. ''You as well? What are you all hiding? Voldemort's back, I know he is. I saw him. Everyone's just pretending that he never-''

''Keep your voice down, Mr. Potter,'' Snape snapped. He swirled round to fix Harry with a trademark glare, effectively silencing the boy.

Harry stared back defiantly. He couldn't help but recoil slightly at the clear hatred displayed in Snape's eyes. How could he have forgotten, in such a short amount of time, just how much pure venom that could be projected from the man by a mere glance?

''I cannot answer a single one of your questions, at present, so I suggest that you desist-'' Snape warned, but Harry was having none of it. He'd waited too long for answers.

''But _why_?'' he interrupted recklessly, knowing as instantly as he did that he would not benefit from it. Snape was not a man to be persuaded, least of all by him. However, that was not reason enough, it seemed, to stop his mouth from projecting his intense, almost painful craving for knowledge. ''Why? Why? Why, Snape?''

Snape's eyes widened, and turned, if possible, a shade icier as he stared down at the boy with all the condescension he could muster.

Harry knew he was treading on dangerous ground, but the knowledge that he was right, that he deserved to know, that he _should_ know kept him pushing, even though he was more than aware that his teacher couldn't care less about how much he did or didn't know, no matter how much it antagonized him.

''The depth of your own self-pitying never ceases to astound me, Potter,'' Snape sneered in disdain. ''What in Melin's name do you think you are asking?''

He tore his eyes from Harry's to glance at the number of houses stretched on either side of them, their windows thrown open as far as they would go in the stifling heat. He could not detect any eavesdroppers, but the sight of the dust on the cars and the abandoned hoses made him aware, once more, of his own personal discomfort.

He pulled fractionally at the confines of his tight collar, before lowering his voice to the boy. ''Not centre of attention for once in your life? I can see how this would upset you, as predictable as you are, but surely even you, Potter, can understand the importance of the current situation-''

''I know!'' Harry seethed. ''But nobody's told me anything.''

He tried to convey, through his expression, the desperation he was feeling, but Snape remained cruelly impassive and apparently immune to the pain that Harry knew was etched into every syllable of his speech. Uncontrollable emotions were a fatal show of weakness and ineptitude where Snape was concerned, which would inevitably further throw up the man's defences, until he was guarding such vital knowledge indefinately.

''I thought Dumbledore... I just...'' Harry shrugged helplessly, suddenly feeling extemely lost. ''But you're here now.''

''Indeed I am,'' Snape replied dryly, ''and what a displeasure it is.''

Tense silence settled between them. Harry stared stonily at the ground while Snape pointedly averted his eyes in a simular fashion. Finally, with a weary shake of his head, Harry was forced to accept that he'd been a hopeful fool to expect Snape to co-operate with him to any degree. He should have expected this.

''So, you're not going to tell me anything?'' A fresh wave of disappointment threatened to overwhelm him as he glared accusingly at his teacher.

Once again his questions were met only with a conclusive silence. The only sound to disturb it was the renewal of their hurried footsteps on the pavement. Harry sighed deeply and kicked a stone, frustrated beyond belief.

He found an odd sense of satisfaction in releasing his aggravation on the tiny pieces of upturned cobble. It wasn't until he put a little too much force behind one of his kicks, and a stone came into contact with Snape's heel, that he realised he may have got carried away.

Snape stopped so abruptly that Harry almost collided with him. He looked up and gulped slightly at the expression on his mentor's face. It was a look of deep, insufferable pain.

''Potter,'' Snape uttered quietly, pinching the bridge of his nose, ''spare me your childish antics. You are going to have to start behaving in a mature fashion or I shall...'' He sighed deeply, as though for a loss of an adequate description of his exasperation.

His sudden weariness surprised Harry. He searched Snape's face a little more closely. The man looked tired. Really tired. And much paler than normal. But then again he'd probably been working for the Order, actually doing something constructive while he was not, and on realising this, Harry's empathy was limited.

''...or I shall go mad,'' Snape finished, looking in all seriousness like he meant it. ''I know that acting your age may be alien concept to you, but I will not compete with your theatrics for the entire of the summer.''

Harry squared his shoulders. He blew his fringe from his eyes to stare the man in the face. ''I have a right to know.''

''God damn it, Potter,'' Snape growled, anger once again dominating the temporary weariness that had clouded his eyes. ''Has anybody yet put that to question?''

Harry instantly prepared to argue, demanding information again, but something in Snape's expression held him back. He was curious as to what Snape had meant by that particular comment. Of course he'd put it to question. Didn't he always?

Snape looked reluctant, but equally as determined to make his point clear. He opened his mouth to speak but seemed to think twice, and sighed deeply before closing it again. Two small boys on dusty worn bikes were staring at them with open mouths, from across the street.

Snape eyed them shrewdly for a moment, clearly intimidating, before shooting a meaningful glance at his student and moving on. Harry was close at his heels as Snape moved their conversation to the privacy of a nearby abandoned car park.

''You may have every reason to be... well informed,'' he continued immediately, with impatience, ''and yet you are not. Does that not conclude any specifics?''

Harry thrust his hands deep into his pockets and frowned miserably in incomprehension. ''What are you talking abou-''

''Did you honestly not think that the headmaster may have every reason for keeping you in the dark?'' Snape looked almost disbelieving as he posed this question, an eyebrow raised.

Harry's silence was enough to give him his answer.

''No, of course you didn't,'' he snarled, and despite himself, Harry felt a moment of shame. He'd been so caught up in his anger and resentment, that he'd somewhat deserted his trust in the headmaster. Still, that did not make the way he'd been abandoned this summer forgivable. He needed to know why, and Snape could read this only too well from his expression.

''I did not say that I would not tell you anything,'' he pressed on, refusing to move another inch until the boy had got over, what was in his opinion, nothing but a spoilt tantrum. ''Do not dare,'' Snape's harsh voice cut through Harry's attempt to argue this fact, shocking the boy into a half pace backwards.

Harry knew that tone. He was in for a lecture. He winced as Snape's voice adopted a quiet, silky edge that was far more dangerous.

''You need to start listening to me very carefully. I will not tolerate this pathetic plea for attention any longer, Potter. Your time of unjust glory is coming to an abrupt end.''

Harry blinked and was forced to drop his eyes to the floor, before he bit back with an equal remark he'd soon regret. He knew only too well that Snape had his limits, and he was not keen to approach them.

Snape shook his head in disapproval and allowed his eyes, for the first time, to linger over his student more closely, taking in the pale sunken cheeks, the tired eyes, the thin frame and bring meaning to them.

The boy had suffered, just as Snape had expected. Much more so than the headmaster had warned him. He was in for a greater challenge than he could have comprehended, when faced with a child in this state. Utter despair, misery, bordem, resentment... It was not a fit mix, especially with the strenous training programme headed the boy's way.

The intense scrutiny made Harry feel uncomfortable, but he stood his ground, too proud to look away. He didn't know what it was Snape was looking for in his weary features, but the moment soon passed and the man's gaze hardened.

''There is nothing essential that you need to know... at the present time,'' Snape continued, as though there had been no significant pause in his speech, his voice adopting a streak of calm and control, as he forced some detachment on himself. ''So, I suggest, as some long overdue advice, Potter, that you calm down. You are not, as many may believe, attached to the headmaster's hipbone. What he chooses to confide in you or, in this case, not...is not my concern.'' He sneered slightly at this point, unable to refrain the impulse to use the boy's unhappiness to inflict further pain.

Snape struck a warning glance as Harry's fists tightened at his sides.

Slowly flattening his palms, Harry closed his eyes with a deep breath, feeling his misery intensify. To argue further would create more problems than not. Snape was obviously not going to tell him anything, or at least properly explain what he meant.

Snape was the worst pick out of a decent number of people that made up the Order of the Pheonix. Why could Sirius not have collected him? Or Remus?

Snapping open his eyes, Harry gave a sarcastic smile, forcing back everything that he wished to yell at the man. He'd just have to wait until he finally got to see Ron and Hermione to get some serious answers. He would not belittle himself to this harmful bickering Snape so thrived in.

''If you attempt for a moment to act your age, Potter,'' Snape called as Harry began to march off, his trunk wobbling unsteadily behind him, ''and demonstrate, for once, some maturity, I may choose to put you out of your misery and explain to you in terms that your simple mind may understand, why exactly you have been presented with less knowledge than the rest of us with regard to the Dark Lord.''

Harry turned back, trying to hide his obvious surprise and crossed his arms. ''Go on then.''

''Not here, you imbecile!'' Snape snapped, striding once again past Harry and giving him a cold look. ''Exercise some control and when we arrive at the manor, I shall tell you everything you need to know.''

''Arrive where?'' Harry questioned, eyebrows raised in disbelief and confusion.

Predictably, Snape chose not ro respond, a satisfied smirk on his face as Harry spluttered ineffectively.

Mind churning, Harry jogged after the man. He was given little time to contemplate Snape's exact meaning, as the man was demonstrating, all too clearly, his impatience to leave the muggle world.

Harry quickly determined that it hardly mattered where they were going. Wherever it was, hell or paradise, it held no light for him. Snape would hate him no less on account of their location. Nothing they ever said to each other be conveyed without malice and cause conflict and misunderstanding, which could only lead to chaos.

''Today, Potter,'' Snape hissed, turning round at the end of the road and deciding that, despite the boy's efforts, he wasn't moving quite fast enough. Harry did look thoroughly miserable, more so than he'd ever seen him, and it did nothing to improve Snape's own mood. An argumentative, dreary Potter was not something he was in the state of mind to be dealing with.

Snape, however, prided himself on having the ability to conceal any such emotion; a skill the boy remained without. This summer would indeed be an illuminating period. The famous Harry Potter would finally be put to the test. His test.

Snape seriously doubted this little arrangement of Dumbledore's would last long; his hopes for the supposed 'chosen one' were certainly not high. The boy obviously had no idea what he was in for.

He gave his wand a minuscule twitch from where it rested, hidden along the lining his sleeve. Harry stumbled forwards and was forced to grab onto a streetlamp to regain his balance, nearly twisting his ankle in his attempt to stay on his feet. He pushed roughly away from it, as he steadied himself and scowled at Snape, but took the message and got a move on.

Snape waited until Harry had caught up, barely containing his impatience, before leading the way to a secluded corner and checking discreetly to ensure they were well hidden. They could just make out the deserted playground, with its broken swings and graffiti.

Snape took in the dismal setting, wondering momentarily, without much concern, how long the boy spent loitering about here in his summer with nothing to do but twiddle his thumbs and dwell on the horrific events of the previous year.

''Just about sums this place up...'' Harry muttered, following Snape's gaze out towards the playground, that had indeed become well acquainted with in his depression already this summer. He was glad that he'd not be setting eyes on this place, or his family, for another year. It was about the only good thing about this whole raw deal. He opened his mouth to continue, a sudden desire to rant and release some of his pent up emotion, but he was quietened almost immediately.

''Do I look like I care, Potter?'' Snape responded absently. His dark eyes were trained for any sounds or movement. When he was satisfied they were alone, he glanced down at his burden with an extremely distasteful expression, and stiffly held out his arm.

Harry grimaced, the thought of touching the potions master, however briefly, making him physically nauseous. With much reluctance, he held on tighter to his belongings and obeyed the silent command.

Gripping Snape's forearm, as lightly as he could while still ensuring contact, Harry screwed his eyes shut and immediately felt the disorientating, unpleasant effects of side-along apparation.


	2. Snape Manor

---

A large outline of a building was emerging in the distance, looming ever nearer as Harry and Snape trudged on silently, heads bowed against the wind. The first flecks of inevitable rain had begun to fall about them, dampening their hair and shoulders, until the water was dripping freely down Harry's chin.

Snape, almost absently, extracted his wand from his pocket and cast a simple charm to prevent contact with the deteriorating weather. Harry noticed this with resentment, his legs shaking with exertion. He had no doubt that the man had also administered a heating charm upon himself, leaving his student cruelly neglected.

Trees closed them in on various untidy intervals, with wide gaps between them so that Harry could see, through straying branches, the rich green fields that rolled on into the distance, blanketed by a deep, rapidly darkening blue sky. Mountains dominated a large portion of the skyline, disappearing up into a cluster of dense cloud that surrounded their peaks.

Over his shoulder, the drive curved round to the right and out of sight, giving the impression of endlessness. Never would Harry have guessed his greasy potions master inhabited a place promising such extensive wealth as this. It seemed unlikely that the man occupied such a grand site on a regular basis.

It wasn't until they were almost upon the building that Snape finally turned and addressed Harry with a civil tongue.

''Wait here,'' he instructed and continued on alone, disappearing under a large stone archway at the main entrance to the property.

Harry nodded, drawn reluctantly from his pensiveness to be faced with an unwelcome reality. Tilting his head upwards, he shuddered at the unwelcome display of numerous dark windows, barely visible through the sheet of rain that covered his face.

Wet darkness obscured a clear picture of his summer residence, as though it too was hiding under a blanket of mystery, unwilling to be seen. Deep apprehension rapidly begun to sink in as the truth of his situation hit full force. Harry had never felt so hollow inside.

Surrounding him was a distinct air of neglect, accompanied by a faint impression that the drive, and all that surrounded it, had once been tended to with great care. Though overgrowing, the hedges that closed them in on either side resembled something akin to a parallel structure, and the weeds and bushes that grew wildly at their roots could not always have been allowed such free reign. However, Harry was unsure just what form of life it could have contained.

Snape re-appeared a moment later, slipping a rusty key into his pocket.

"Welcome, Mr. Potter," he spoke on approach, his mocking tone anything but hospitable. Gesturing upwards with an elegant hand, he clarified their destination. ''Snape Manor.''

Harry swallowed uncomfortably, wandering to meet Snape half way. The man's expression was unreadable, though his eyes were intense and strangely curious, as though Harry's reaction to his home was of mild interest to him.

Clearing his throat, Harry sniffed through a particularly violent shiver and smoothed his face out into something that resembled indifference. He'd no desire to feed Snape's insufferable arrogance.

"You live here?" he asked indifferently, enabling eye contact for only a moment before looking out again at the area that surrounded them, keen to indulge in its peaceful emptiness for a few moments longer, before he had to deal with the harsh realities that presented themselves with Snape in such close proximity.

"This is not my permanent residence, no, Potter... though I suspect that you have already reached that conclusion.'' Snape looked distinctly satisfied as he watched Harry frown, a small blush creeping up the side of the boy's face as he realised his private thoughts had been correctly guessed.

''Under here, Mr. Potter,'' Snape changed the subject abruptly, leading Harry towards a shaded area around the porch, so that he could remove the wards without competing with the boy's infernal shivering.

"So, where do you live the rest of the year?" Harry wondered aloud, setting his stride to match that of Snape's, desperate to instigate some resemblance of equality between them, or at least irritate the man by trying. ''When you're not at Hogwarts I mean? You _do_ live at school during term, like the other teachers?''

If Snape was as rich as this property suggested, the inferior, ancient quarters that Hogwarts provided may be beneath him. Strange, Harry thought, giving his teacher an odd look; he'd never associated the man with money.

"That is none of your concern,'' Snape informed him vaguely, lifting his heavy gaze from Harry's face to stare with restrained anxiety at the mansion, whose sheer weight of history could barely be contained within its numerous walls. ''This property, however, holds a number of... assets. There are certain circumstances... situations in which one finds themselves, that warrant a certain amount of... class, do you not think, Mr. Potter?''

It took Harry a moment, along with an unmistakable rise of the man's eyebrow, matched with a wicked gleam in his eye, to work out what Snape was implying. Restraining himself before he could gag, Harry failed in concealing his disgust.

Severus Snape with a woman was something he refused an attempt to envision. He pitied any poor females who'd been lured within a mile of the man, though he had to admit they'd have to be suicidal, or more likely under the influence of some dodgy potion, to get even that close.

''You must learn to be more perceptive,'' Snape continued calmly, a reluctant smirk twisting his face as he found himself amused by Harry's naive reaction to the thought of him with a woman. ''I expect you are as weary of hearing it, as I am repeating it-''

''I'm immature, I know,'' Harry finished for him, annoyed.

''In more ways than one,'' Snape added dryly, allowing Harry to assume what he would. He knew he'd struck a nerve when the boy shifted uncomfortably and glowered.

''Contradict me if you will, Mr. Potter,'' Snape spoke softly, a cutting edge to his tone.

Automatically, Harry clamped his own lips together, afraid that if he said the wrong thing, Snape would only twist and manipulate his words further to increase whatever humiliation it was he was intent on drawing out of him.

''No?'' Snape prodded when Harry remained silent. ''Very well. The important point that I am trying to derive from this fascinating little conversation, Potter, does not regard your...inexperience in adult matters, but something of far greater significance to one as...young as you.''

Harry pulled unconsciously at his damp sleeves, his discomfort with the unnecessary direction Snape was bending his insults clear in the renewal of his restlessness.

''Can we go inside now?'' he asked impatiently, willing himself not to blush any brighter than at present. There was a humour in Snape's eyes that he wasn't used to, and did not at all like. Snape was challenging his manliness, his pride, his experience... Harry could not compete, insecure as he was in his childish, too thin body. Snape had taken his cruelty to a new low, cutting at the boy's vulnerable spots.

Snape appeared to consider Harry's request for an unreasonable amount of time, though his answer was simple. ''No.''

Harry's mouth ran away from him before he could think to restrain it, his anger refuelled. ''You_ have_ to turn everything into some sick game. You know nothing about my personal life. For all you know, I could have... many times... What gives you the right to-''

Snape rolled his eyes deliberately. He'd forgotten just how exhausting, albeit satisfying, it could be to tease Harry. Having the boy under his watchful eye, to provoke and scorn at will, would be a treat indeed.

''A Miss. Cho Chang holds no interest for you then, Mr. Potter?'' he drawled, raising an eloquent eyebrow. ''Hmm? You cannot tell me that your private activities with certain... female students are entirely innocent.''

''Wha -- How do you-'' Harry stuttered in embarrassment and outrage. This attack on his person was completely unprovoked. Snape hadn't even waited for a reason to be so openly cruel. It didn't take a genius to work out why. Snape resented his presence, especially in what should be his own free time, so deeply that, as always, his anger and bitterness was projected in the form of verbal spite.

If he was going to have to put up with this level of torment for the summer, Harry knew he was done for. Snape would not refuse a unique opportunity, such as this, to take his revenge on the bullies from his childhood.

''Occlumency,'' Snape explained softly, his eyes glinting maliciously as he peered closely at Harry through a curtain of hair, seeing only James. ''You _shall_ learn to block your mind, Potter. If this is what it takes, then so be it. This summer shall be very uncomfortable indeed if you cannot withhold such... illuminating information.''

''I thought you had a point,'' Harry snapped. ''Aside from ripping the piss.''

''Language, Potter'' Snape reprimanded swiftly, regarding his heated student for a few moments longer, as if assessing how much further he could push him.

He smirked when Harry glared openly at him, unknowingly threatening with such naivety that Snape could have laughed, were he open to such a display of emotion. As if he would actually react to such a pathetic attempt at intimidation...

''Terrifying,'' he observed sarcastically, making his amusement evident. ''I do hope you shall use that exact expression on the Dark Lord. He shall not be able to contend with it. Now, my _point,_ Potter, was that you judge far too quickly. You assumed that I would be a man of poor wealth due to your own, biased assessment of my character. Do not deny it.''

He refused Harry a chance to argue. ''I do not care for your preferences, but if you wish to be taught, a sharper mind must be acquired. I do have some vague hope forcing you into progress this summer, and therefore, maturity is essential.'' His voice became harder as he stared down at Harry, all sense of cruel amusement absent. ''Now close your mouth and follow me. Unless of course you'd rather develop hypothermia in this awful weather...I confess that I have no preference.''

Harry grabbed his trunk but did not move, scowling daggers at Snape's retreating back. The word 'hypocrite' rang loudly in his ears.

What the hell did Snape know about his _perception_? And since when had he ever been spoilt, and _why_ did Snape stick to this inaccurate assumption despite all that he'd seen of his 'family?'

It took a few moments for Snape to realise that Harry was no longer following him.

"Is there a problem?" He turned back to face his motionless student with a sigh of frustration, forcing himself to remain calm. "Do you require a leash?''

Harry did not respond. His forehead was creased in intense thought, as though he were considering either running away or re-collecting his former courage and marching on. However, as he was failing to answer to his mentor, he was pushing his luck.

Snape rolled his eyes to the heavens and strode back over to where Harry stood, pulling up his sleeves to reveal a pair of pale, long fingered hands. Harry made a very undignified squeak of surprise as Snape clouted him hard round the back of the head, much less hard than he would have liked.

''Do not make a mockery of the deaf by imitating their inability to respond to simple verbal instruction, Potter,'' he hissed impatiently.

Harry instantly recoiled, stepping back hastily out of Snape's reach. He brought his hands to his head and glowered at the man, though, admittedly, he'd suffered worse blows and it had not hurt much.

Snape looked more closely at Harry's apprehensive face and sneered unpleasantly, misreading his thoughts completely. ''What is it, Potter? Is the accommodation not up to standard for the Golden Boy? Reluctant to step inside without a red carpet and a tide of adoring fans?''

Harry took a moment to answer, fighting the urge to either roll his eyes or cry out in despair. Enough was enough. The teasing and the snide comments he could content with, but now this was just plain bullying and he would not remain passive to its assaults any longer.

"You just met my relatives! You could see what was written on the...Where I....Did it _look_ like royalty to you? Was I kept like a prince? I slept in a _cupboard_!" Harry exclaimed, strangely upset more by the unfairness of Snape's accusation, after all he'd seen, than by the remark itself.

"Be that as it may, do not expect me to pity-'' Snape begun, his eyes narrowed and dangerous. It was only too clear that he was finally losing the last of his patience. Harry was on thin ice.

"_Pity_? That's the last thing I want!" Harry cried, cutting him off mid sentence, anger heating his face. ''And I certainly wouldn't bother trying to get _you_ Snape, to actually find a heart.''

Snape's lip curled into a snarl, his fingers itching to grab at the boy's throat -- Anything to release this tension. Damn this Potter. Always so ready to display his emotions to the world. God, give him Neville Longbottom over this intolerable child.

Harry took a deep breath, knowing only too well what Snape longed to unleash on him.

"I don't want to be here anymore than you do, Snape,'' he continued in a low voice, making a conscious effort to restrain his anger, as he watched his mentor do the same. He wouldn't be the first one to lose control. He wouldn't give Snape that satisfaction. ''If we're going to actually survive this summer, could you stop treating me like a_ kid_? You've no right t-''

''I have_ every_ right, Mr. Potter, until you give me reason not to,'' Snape cut him off sharply, as if that closed the matter.

"I'm just saying...'' Harry willed Snape to understand and at least _try_. They were never going to get anywhere like this. "I know you don't like me-"

Snape raised an eyebrow.

"Ok…_hate_ me," Harry continued, promptly bringing forth the other eyebrow, "but could we at least _try_ to be civil! You're meant to be training me to fight the darkest wizard in the world. I want to learn, I really do. Professor...I gave Dumbledore my word that I would try my hardest. Can't you just... respect me? Even a little?''

For a while, Snape merely eyed the boy silently, his face an inscrutable mask. When he lurched forwards, Harry jerked back, flinching against the hands that fisted the front of his robes. The distaste with which Snape was tracing the lines of his face had Harry irrationally considering whether he'd been physically cursed without realising. Never before had he been surveyed with such revulsion.

''Do not claim to comprehend the magnitude to which I loathe you, Mr. Potter, or the reasons for it,'' the man hissed, stale breath cascading over Harry's face.

Harry struggled from his grip, leaving Snape's palms suspended in mid air before he snapped them back to his sides, smoothing his face into calm indifference.

Without another word, he turned sharply away from the arrogance ridden boy he'd had the misfortune to be charged with, his heartbeat decreasing as rapidly as it had arisen. _Respect_ was not something given freely by the potions master, and he took offense at Harry's careless request for it. It had to be earnt, and even then that wasn't always enough to gain the approval of the highly judgemental and unforgiving Head of Slytherin House.

Harry James Potter, Snape was confident, would never achieve any such privilege. Not from him. He had the rest of the wizzarding world to kiss his arse.

Harry sighed heavily, feeling weariness ebb out his anger and frustration. He'd tried to make peace. What more could he do? If Snape would not even attempt to get along, or at least diminish his hostility, he was left with only one option. They would live in complete and utter misery, full of misunderstanding, prejudice, chaos... All of it.

If this was the way Snape wanted it, that was fine by Harry. It would just make things ten times more difficult than they needed to be, but Snape was Snape and he'd expected nothing less.

-----

Inside Snape Manor was, if possible, more sinister than was suggested by the exterior. Colourless passages filled Harry's eyes as he stepped over the threshold, twisting in every direction from the heart of the foyer, dulled by the lack of natural light permitted through the high, curtained windows. It smelled damp and musty, and was cold to the core.

There was not sound that penetrated the walls once Snape had cealed the door behind them. The intensity of Harry's shivering doubled. He glanced up at the shadow that was Snape's face, knowing that he was thinking the same thing. Both of them._ Just_ them. Alone.

Snape's eyes slowly followed the curve of the staircase, a weight of tension in his stare. Acutely aware of the trembling boy beside him, he strode forewards to run his palm over the immaculate woodwork.

When Harry could bare the silence no longer, he refrained from grabbing at Snape's sleeve, with a sudden desire for human contact, and cleared his throat. ''Now what, professor?'' he asked quietly.

Snape finally returned his attention to Harry, the pool of anxiety in his gut coiling unpleasantly in response to the restrained anxiety in the boy's voice. Dumbledore never could have prepared him for such a lonesome feeling.

Schooling his features, he gave the boy a swift, searching glance, internally debating. Harry's presence was not something he wanted in a place so deeply entwined with his own history, but a tour would be required if the boy was to navigate his way successfully to all his lessons. With reluctance, he relented to showing Harry briefly the main part of the house.

''Coat off, Potter. I will not have you dripping all over my carpet.''

Harry felt himself warm, all the way down to his toes, and knew Snape had finally administered a heating charm on his soaked form. Refusing the man a grateful reply, he bundled off his coat, kicked off his ruined trainers and swallowed deeply, following the man into the darkness of the house.

The quick, no nonsense tour was not as interesting for Harry as it could have been. Snape warned and threatened him with the upmost sincerity, with nothing short of a most painful death, against touching anything that he did not himself personally own. Snape's own belongings were to be nothing but wallpaper to the boy, and strictly off limits.

Despite Snape's brusqueness and deliberate attempt to make the experience as dour as possible, Harry soaked up his surroundings with wide, expressionative eyes. There were grand oak furniture and tables, tapestries, statues, huge strange plants and never-ending carpets with complex designs he'd never even seen before.

As expected, the main colour scheme was black, though deep, blood reds and poison greens were entwined tastefully.

There were many rooms that Snape pointedly ignored, passing them by as if they did not even exist. Harry knew better than to enquire about the contents of these. The same disregard was applied to a large number of portraits they passed. Draped in thick, black musty curtains, they remained a mystery.

If only Harry was a guest under different circumstances, and there wasn't such an air of neglect and emptiness about the place, he may have warmed quite well to the bleak manor. It reminded him of Grimauld Place to some extent, and therefore, he could connect with it. The darkness and misery it dwelled in was compatible enough with his mood.

Harry thought, with a small, satisfied smile, of the Dursley's faces if they could see where he was now.

''Take that smirk off your face, Potter,'' Snape snapped as they rounded a corner, returning to the Entrance Hall where they'd started. ''There shall be no sliding down banisters or such, whatever it is that you are planning.''

Harry looked at him deadpanned. ''Sir, I'm fourteen.''

Snape narrowed his eyes. ''Eleven.''

Harry rolled his eyes. ''I can promise you, sir, that I haven't once, since we got here, had the urge to slide down anything. And there were three staircases-''

''Four,'' Snape corrected him curtly, apparently still sceptical. He looked extremely uncomfortable. He turned his back to Harry and began re-setting the wards on the door. ''Forgive me if I do not take your word too seriously, Potter. I find it hard to believe that you haven't concocted some destructive scheme...''

''Maybe a few,'' Harry shrugged impulsively, his humour making a brave dive to the surface. ''The Weasley twins have taught me a thing or two.''

Snape turned back to him sharply, his jaw setting into a firm line of disapproval as Harry snickered. His badly placed humour quickly faltered, however, as Harry realised just how low Snape's opinion of him really was.

''Highly amusing, Mr. Potter. Any foolishness at all and I shall not hesitate in having you removed. Provide me with an excuse and I shall return you to your relatives.''

''That goes without saying,'' Harry sighed, pushing his hands deep into his pockets and watching tiredly as Snape finished ensuring their security. ''So, shall I go to my room now or...''

''Follow me.''

Snape turned sharply on his heel, after giving the door one last critical glance, and Harry followed.

Despite the tour, Harry was sure he'd never successfully learn the map of the manor. It was too vast. Even Snape had to backtrack a couple of times, changing their route without warning as he led them through the maze of corridors and rooms.

"It really is some place you have here…" Harry breathed as they walked, more to himself than Snape. He'd never been in a place like it and doubted he ever would again. Ron would be so jealous, regardless of the heritage.

"That is one word for it,'' Snape muttered in response, and Harry thought he heard a note of bitterness in the man's voice. A moment later, it had been concealed.

''However, I shall be the only one indulging in its facilities. You are to stay in your room, or in the grounds, without my prior permission when we are not in a lesson or eating a meal, do you understand?" he added more tersely, anxious now to be alone. He had had enough of the boy's company for one day and now wanted nothing more than to be rid of him.

Harry nodded, foolish to expect anything more generous from this man.

As they reached the end of their current passage, Snape beckoned Harry impatiently into a small, cluttered study area.

"Sit,'' he pointed and Harry obeyed, looking around curiously as Snape busied himself in one of the cupboards.

Parchment and books were pushed aside as Snape rummaged, and dust quickly filled the room. Harry coughed as it filled his lungs, wondering with growing amazement whether anyone had actually been in this house, for any length of time, in centuries.

The desk in front of him was hidden entirely by books. Harry glanced up at Snape's back before reaching out to touch the one nearest. His fingers met thick dust, which he brushed away, with growing intrigue, to reveal an image so morbid and obscene that he immediately retracted his hand with a look of revulsion.

The book was snatched up by a thin, pale hand and Harry immediately sat back, wincing at the displeasure on his teacher's face.

''Do we need to discuss further, the importance of ignoring that which does not concern you, Potter?'' Snape hissed, a flash of anger in his eyes so intense that Harry flinched.

The book was hidden from sight, and for a moment, Harry thought he saw the same fear he'd felt, reflected in a much more muted fashion, in Snape's eyes.

Harry swallowed uncomfortably, the images from the book still fresh in his mind, though it was a comfort, as well as a surprise, to know that Snape found the depictions just as disturbing. It appeared, however, that not all Snape's family shared their view. Harry knew that most Slytherin's were sinister, foul people, but the true significance of this was only just dawning on him.

He sighed heavily as Snape pulled up a chair opposite him, and realised that he was in for a lecture.

''Don't look at me like that, Potter,'' Snape muttered intolerably, folding his robes beneath him. ''You must control yourself for only a while longer before I release you from my presence.''

He regarded his watch briefly before returning his icy gaze onto his student. There were some formalities that needed to be taken care of before they could part.

"Now, listen carefully for I shall not repeat this. Firstly, as I am required to provide your basic human needs while you are under my... care, dinner will be at 6:30pm tonight. There will be no fuss made of meal times, Potter, so do not expect a Hogwarts service. I shall cook, we shall eat, and you shall leave to study, prepare for a lesson...do with yourself what you may, understood?''

''Yes, sir. Will I-''

''You shall present yourself at the allotted time in the dining room, and not a second later,'' Snape spoke over him, determined to get this over with as soon as possible, unconcerned about any questions the boy may have at present. There was a headache brewing somewhere in the region of his left temple, and a liquor cabinet in the basement with his name on it.

''You are not at school at present, and therefore, I will not tolerate your usual tardiness. If you are late, you shall not eat, is that understood?"

Harry nodded, imprinting the time into his brain. He didn't want to give Snape yet more reason to be irritable, nor had he a desire to starve.

Snape drew his wand and summoned a parchment. He caught it, giving it a quick glance before handing it to Harry, who took it hesitantly.

''Your timetable,'' Snape informed him. ''I expect no less than immaculate precision with your timing, with regard to every appointment I bind you to. You have no excuse.''

He pointed to the tiny dates and numbers with his wand and Harry nodded again. ''This includes breakfast, at which time you shall appear in my kitchen no later than 7:00am each morning with no exception, regardless of when your first lesson may be.''

''Yes, sir.''

''Lunch shall vary accordingly, depending on the activities of the day. There shall be no lessons of any kind, nor do I wish to see you, on Sundays. I do not want owls flocking the place night and day, nor will I tolerate unexpected guests; house elves and deranged godfathers included. Every square inch of this house that is touched by your grubby little fingers shall remain in exactly the same condition it is found, and you are only to enter my private rooms if you wish to experience a very slow and painful death.

These are my rules. Disobey them, Potter, and I don't care whether you are no more equipped to confront the Dark Lord than with a teaspoon, I will cease to be an aid to you. Do I make myself perfectly clear?"

''Yes, sir,'' Harry replied quickly, slightly alarmed, though not at all shocked by his attitude.

Snape looked down hard at him, as though he'd already broken all of his rules, and decided that he was not quite finished.

"You are to address me as sir or professor at _all_ times. No exceptions shall be made when you are throwing a tantrum. I am your teacher, you are my pupil, let us remain very aware of that fact. Do not think that you can take liberties, as you are not in a classroom by conventional definition. You are here to learn. The same principles apply here, as at school. I am not going to provide... recreational activities. Do not snicker, Potter, I am merely pointing out the fact that, in your own time, you shall be left to your own devices. I assume you have brought some means of... entertainment.''

''Of course,'' Harry lied and watched as Snape relaxed subtly. He'd not considered before that it may be difficult for Snape to have a teenager in his home. Harry was still relatively a child, and Snape, whether he liked it or not, had to keep him in one piece.

Harry wondered, with strange curiosity, when the last time was that Snape had lived so closely with someone.

''I am sure I do not need to add, Potter, my preference for silence and, am I to hear so much of a mutter from your direction, at any time of the day when you are not with me, detentions will not be restricted to Hogwarts alone.''

Harry swallowed. ''Yes, sir.''

''Be sure that you understand, Potter,'' Snape narrowed his eyes. ''I am in no mood to put up with your constant violation of rules, especially while you are on my property.''

''I get it,'' Harry nodded insistently. "If I'm...good, will I be able to leave the house at any time, sir?" He would suffocate within a week in this place with Snape and his damn rules. At least at the Dursley's he could go out on his own, and experience a little freedom. It would be more different here than he'd first thought. It may be hell but it would be a separate kind all together.

"I think not," Snape answered after some careful thought. "The grounds are extensive. You shall not be at a lack for fresh air. Also, I do not think it wise, do you, with Voldemort conspiring your abduction?''

"But they don't know where I am.'' Harry's voice rose a notch or two higher in his worry. He cleared his throat and appeared casual as he awaited Snape's answer.

"Of course not and I would prefer to keep it that way," Snape responded immediately, surprising Harry with his implied preference for his safety.

Though, Harry reasoned, every word that came out of the man's mouth could be a lie for all he knew, and any true desire to protect him would only be derived from a greater concern for his own welfare. Snape was simply impossible to read, just one of the many things that disconcerted Harry about him.

Harry opened his mouth but his next question was already correctly predicted.

"A brief excursion to Grimauld Place in the near future is not unlikely.'' Snape looked less than pleased about this fact, but Harry felt a slow, relieved smile spread across his own face. It was the first in what felt like a lifetime. He would be seeing his friends and Sirius. That would be enough to keep him going, for a while at least.

''I have no doubt the headmaster will wish to speak with you at some point. He is adamant that you should remain in close contact will your...godfather,'' Snape's nostrils flared briefly, ''for the duration of the summer.''

His lip curled unpleasantly as Harry smiled appreciatively at the thought. "So that your emotional wellbeing is also ensured, and your ridiculous sentiments kept it tact, I have no doubt…'' He knew that Harry would recognise the implied. _He_ would not be supplying emotional support of any kind.

Harry's smile faltered as his eyes met Snape's cold ones. It would have been impossible to keep it there when he was being stared at with such blatant hatred.

Snape looked at him for only a moment longer before standing up sharply. ''Now disappear. I do not want to see you before dinner."

With that, he was gone, his black robes whipping out of sight round the corner so fast that Harry hadn't the chance to ask for re-directions to his room. He sighed heavily in resignation and muttered a few well chosen profanities, before making his way up the winding staircase.

---

It took Harry a while to re-find the room Snape had chosen for him, as there were so many doors, all without a shred of individuality to set them apart.

An aggravated sigh escaped his lips as he was finally able to stretch out across his king-sized bed, the tension slowly leaving his body as he moulded into the thick mattress.

Rolling onto his side, Harry surveyed the portraits that lined the walls. Dark fabric had been drawn over them, concealing the inhabitants from sight. For once, Harry's curiosity was to remain tamed, as he refused the impulse to take a closer look, reasonably afraid of what he may find.

There was a tall, full length bronze mirror that stood at the foot of the bed, and a large window looking out over the extensive grounds. It was simple grandeur. If there had been a room less magnificent, he was sure Snape would have put him in that, but as things were, he found no reason to be displeased with his accommodation.

Harry gave a deep sigh and let his mind wander, far beyond the walls of his bedroom. He was here. He was finally going to be trained to fight Voldemort.

If he'd wanted something reactionary to shake up the dreary, repetitiveness of his summer, he had it. He wondered if Voldemort was out there somewhere now, doing the same thing, finding ways to find and kill him as well...

Harry shuddered at the thought and pushed it from his mind. He couldn't exactly share his thoughts with Snape. The man just didn't want to know, and Harry almost felt sorry for him being stuck with someone he hated so much for a whole summer. Almost. He had much more sympathy for himself.

At least if he stuck to one side of the house and Snape the other, as much as possible, they may just both get through this alive.


	3. Temper

---

Harry had unpacked his clothes twice with great care, only to shove them back into his trunk, after coming to the firm decision that he could not stand to see them hanging up, looking so alien against the dank, grime infested wood of the wardrobe.

Even his broom, propped up against the window-sill, only served as a reminder of the permanence of Harry's current position and the sacrifices he'd soon be forced to make.

Only his books, quills and parchment found a lasting residence on the desk. Brushing aside a thick layer of dust, Harry dragged a chair across the room and folded himself into it, pulling a stack of parchment towards him.

The fire crackled comfortingly beside him as the storm raged outside, growing in intensity. Harry glanced up frequently as bright flashes crossed the sky, wracking the entire building with their raging intensity.

Full of anger and bitterness towards his teacher, Harry allowed his imagination to run away with him, entertaining various ludicrous ideas about Snape Manor and its true origin. Suggesting that his professor may have stolen the property, in order to fill it with his own dismal portraits and dark magic, was a far more satisfying pastime than reminiscing about the dull, more probable reasons for his inheritance.

Harry smiled apologetically as he sealed his finished letter and placed it at the edge of Hedwig's perch. He had to admit she'd had little rest this summer with his constant pleas for information. Feeling guilty for being so inconsiderate, he poured her a generous amount of treats and flopped back in his chair to wait out the storm.

With a dull clang, the clock in his room assured Harry, in all its expensive glory, that he still had a few hours before dinner. He resisted the urge to give into curiosity and explore the house further, away from the supervision of his mentor, and instead wondered as to all the torturous things Snape had planned for him.

As none of these thoughts led anywhere pleasant and succeeded only in agitating him further, Harry transferred himself onto his bed, finding an odd comfort in the repetitive pounding of raindrops hitting the roof above his head. He imagined his current discomfort would only be greater if the room was filled with silence, with nothing to distract him from the promise of loneliness.

He could not, try as he might, picture himself and Snape, sat down to dinner, spending an entire summer together...alone. In fact, he could not envision himself and Snape sharing a domestic environment at all, no matter the time span.

Harry hadn't realised just how tired he was until he closed his eyes in weary surrender. He hadn't had much sleep lately, reluctant as he was to revisit his nightmares, and didn't expect things to be different here, but he was so tired... Fighting with Snape had taken its toll.

He stifled a yawn, and just as a precaution, set silencing spells about his curtains as he begun to doze off, quite comfortably sunk into the thick spongy mattress of the bed.

---

''Potter, downstairs now,'' a firm voice demanded, startling Harry from his slumber. He jerked upright, staring blearily around the room in a mild panic, as he fought to make sense of the sound through a haze of grogginess.

''Sir?'' Harry replied, rubbing at his eyes.

The open bedroom door and the echo of footsteps down the corridor told him that Snape had already moved on.

Sighing, Harry ran a hand through his sleep messed hair and glanced at the clock. It was with immense relief that he noted he was not yet late for dinner, despite the fact he'd managed to sleep, undisturbed, for almost two hours.

He crawled off of his bed, knowing far better than to keep Snape waiting. The instinct came from painful experience with that particular tone.

Stomach rumbling, he quickly descended staircase after staircase until they ran out, noticing only vaguely that the rain had eased off to a light patter against the many high windows. It didn't take him as long as he'd feared to find the dining room, as it dominated almost the entire floor with its vast size.

Harry sighed in relief and took a deep breath, before heaving open the door. His jaw dropped soon after. He clamped it shut when he realised he was, yet again, shocked speechless by Snape's house.

The dining room had remained anonymous on their tour, as Snape had only briefly pointed at the doorframe, pronouncing its purpose and moved swiftly on. Now Harry got to see the real thing.

Clearing this throat, Harry shut the door carefully behind him, alerting his mentor to his presence.

Snape was laying the table, his black clad form only just visible in the dim light of the rest of the room. He looked up as Harry entered, his lips curving into a familiar expression of disdain.

''Come in, Potter,'' he offerred, with obvious reluctance. ''I trust you can find your seat.''

Harry shivered as he made his way forward, his head turning restlessly on his shoulders, full of open curiosity. The room was of ancient design, as with the rest of the house, and lined thick with dust, proving just how little it was used, though this did little to deter its timeless beauty.

His footsteps creaked and echoed, as he cautiously made his way forwards, the coldness greeting goosebumps over his bare arms. There were plenty of fireplaces, like many he'd seen in this house already, but as with all the others, they had not been lit. They stood empty and lifeless.

Whether Snape preferred it this way, was not planning on staying long, or was deliberately trying to make him more uncomfortable, Harry didn't yet know.

Distracted by his own wandering thoughts, Harry stumbled on the corner of an upturned rug, unable to see clearly in the gloom, and grabbed onto the nearest chair for support. It cluttered loudly to the floor, echoing throughout the room.

Harry winced into the following silence and heard Snape sigh, and then clap his hands together twice. At first Harry thought himself mocked with false applause, but a moment later light filtered through from the ceiling, giving him enough light to continue his way safely.

''You shall soon become accustomed to the dark, Potter,'' Snape said without looking up. ''Light is not something that shall be used in excess in this house.''

Harry couldn't say he was surprised. The dungeons at Hogwarts were a clear reflection of the man's preference for the dark, dank and miserable, though to hear Snape say it now, so coldly, made the realisation far more sinister.

Harry hesitated as he reached the highly polished wooden table that took up most of the central space of the room, stretching from wall to wall. His eyes snapped upwards when he realised they were not quite alone. A life-size portrait stood behind each straight-backed, rigid wooden chair, their black eyes watching the figures in the room below interact with deep interest.

Snape made an impatient gesture and Harry quickly sat down, eyeing the portraits apprehensively. He felt very uncomfortable under their disapproving gazes, though he couldn't help but feel a familiarity in the way they glared at him, their lips tilted in a deeply sour expression-

''My ancestors, Potter,'' Snape said without emotion, confirming his suspicions, and watched Harry shift uncomfortably under the close scrutiny. ''I would not expect much of a welcome from them.''

''Of course. I wouldn't dream of it, sir,'' Harry muttered, attempting to ignore their demanding presence. Snape had sat him here to further unnerve him, that much was clear.

Harry tore his eyes from their faces and looked up at his mentor instead, who had now turned his own attention to them, and was smirking in a satisfied way that made Harry slightly nauseous.

''They are just curious,'' Snape said in mild amusement, ''they shall become bored with you long before the hour is over, I wouldn't flatter yourself too much, Potter. They shall soon discover how tedious you are, as I have. We are family after all.''

Snape was not at all fond of his family, but he did have to admit that their power of intimidation was admirable.

Harry eyes dropped to stare down at a small dent in the side of the table, refusing to meet any of those cold, marble black eyes. He wouldn't let Snape's 'family' intimidate him, though the man was obviously enjoying watching him squirm. Hell, one Snape was enough; a room full of them was just taking the piss in Harry's opinion. The sooner this was over, the better.

''Do not move,'' Snape instructed as he disappeared back into the adjoining kitchen, returning a few minutes later with their meal.

Harry again shifted awkwardly in his seat, but Snape ignored him, lading his plate with food, which to Harry's deprived stomach, smelled surprisingly good. The Dursley's had yet to present him with a decent meal. To receive one from Snape was infinitely strange, seeing as he didn't much set the man apart from the Dursley's. He didn't know what he'd been expecting, but it wasn't this.

Snape sat down abruptly when he'd finished, instantly claiming his cutlery. The rigidness in his shoulders, and the tightness of his jaw, told Harry that he was not the only one tense over this.

He watched as Snape raised a steaming folk to his mouth, more uncomfortable than he could comprehend. Never in a million years would he have imagined a scene like this. He continued to stare, wide eyed, as Snape cut up his food and ate in small, measured bites, apparently oblivious to his audience.

A bitter expression crossed the man's sharp, pale face with each swallow, as though he detested even the simple act of eating. Was there _anything_ normal that this man didn't find distasteful? Harry could see him wince slightly as his white throat contracted-

''Something the matter, Potter?'' Snape asked intolerantly, glancing up sharply and shocking Harry into embarrassment. ''If the food is not up to standard-''

''No, sir,'' Harry answered quickly, snatching up his own folk. ''I... It's fine. Thank you.''

Forcing himself not to fidget, Harry told himself to appreciate his meal, even if he was the only one doing so. Decent food was not something that should be taken for granted, he knew that better than most.

However, before he could take his first bite and prove that he was not ungrateful, his stomach growled loudly in hunger, and he paused, grimacing.

Snape looked up at the sound and caught Harry's eye. A long, tense moment passed, but any scornful remark that Snape may have prepared died on his tongue and failed to materialise, as Harry stared apprehensively at him, ashen faced and hollow cheeked. Snape found nothing amusing in the fact that the boy appeared half-starved to death.

Harry was taken off guard when a brief look of distaste crossed Snape's face, as for once it was not directed at him, but his previous carers.

''Eat,'' Snape demanded softly, and did not return his attention to his own food until Harry seemed content in doing so.

If it wasn't for his extreme agitation caused by the day's events, Snape would not have cooked such a plentiful meal. However, as things were, he'd found some small respite in cooking. It was similar to brewing potions in many ways. The fact that Harry looked as though he hadn't eaten a decent meal in a week was not a point of motivation that Snape would ever admit to.

His thoughtfulness had been uncharacteristic and a unique experience. He was reluctant to consider the boy's needs, even if the fact that he had deliberately called Harry down when he'd realised the boy was going to be late, suggested that his empathetic side was not as non-existent as he may have hoped.

Today he'd decided to have mercy. He did not want to wake up tomorrow and find a corpse lying in Harry's bed, all because the boy had been too foolish to ensure that he woke at the appropriate time to eat.

Silence settled between them as they passed their meal, both too tired and hungry to force themselves into an argument. Harry was well aware that he still had questions he needed answered, and Snape _had_ said that now they were here, he would give them.

Almost regretfully, Harry broke the calm atmosphere, knowing that, if anything, this would spark yet another dispute.

''Uh...sir? Professor Snape?'' he asked quietly.

A scraping of cutlery and Snape looked up, raising an eyebrow lazily. ''Mr. Potter?''

Harry cleared his throat nervously. No one could intimidate him like Snape could. ''My questions...'' he prompted gently, doing his best to appear patient, ''you said that when we got here, you would give me some answers.''

''I did,'' Snape agreed warily.

''So, you'll tell me?'' Harry asked hopefully.

''Did I not say that I would?''

''But _now_? I thought you might-''

''Do not _badger_ me, Potter,'' Snape snapped, a truly pained look flashing across his features. ''Must you be so insufferable at all hours of the day? One would think you'd show at least a small amount of courtesy-''

''Sorry, sir,'' Harry said quickly, deterring the man before he could get too carried away. He didn't want to hear anymore insults. He'd had enough for one day, and besides, he needed Snape in a relatively relaxed mood if he was to get anything out of him. ''I didn't mean to be...or to...sorry.'' Harry winced, scratching the back of his neck nervously as he thought of how best to get Snape to co-operate.

''You didn't mean to _what_?'' Snape sighed impatiently. ''Do not begin a sentence if you are incapable of completing it, Potter. There is always silence as an alternative to insignificant speech.''

''I didn't mean to... _annoy_ you, or anything like that,'' Harry added irritably, knowing just as well as Snape did that apologising would only meet more friction than acceptance, hence the reason he hadn't said it. ''I didn't say it because-''

''You knew there were far more appropriate words to describe the extent to which I am pained by what you inflict upon me,'' Snape muttered, giving the boy a dark look. ''Very wise, Potter.''

Harry sighed deeply and decided to start again. He wasn't going to let Snape irritate him out of discussing this. And the man called _him_ immature.

''I am grateful for dinner, sir. I appreciate you cooking for me,'' he said forcefully. Truly thanking Snape for this was slightly easier, as he was wholly sincere in his gratification, not that Snape would see it that way.

As Harry expected, Snape looked at him strangely for a moment, as though he were a different species entirely.

''We all have to eat,'' he said stiffly. ''I doubt the headmaster would be pleased if I allowed you to waste away...not that you are not doing a remarkable job of that yourself.''

He raked his eyes over Harry's thin frame with a critical eye. Harry felt himself colour under the scrutiny and had to force himself not to fidget. He didn't need Snape to tell him how much weight he'd lost, and was glad when he looked away. Snape made no further comment on his appearance and Harry relaxed slightly. It wasn't his fault he was so thin. He could only hope that Snape would also appreciate that.

''Yeah, well...'' Harry continued uncomfortably. ''I just thought that, as we're just sitting here, we could talk about my questions. When you're ready of course.''

Snape's eyes narrowed, suspicious of Harry's sudden, unexpected politeness. ''Is this the little act of innocence that you present to the headmaster, as vulnerable as he is to the power of false impressions?''

When Harry didn't respond, he continued curtly, ''I am not fooled by your forged patience, Potter. Albus may be consumed by your games, but I am not. I shall attempt to enlighten you in your relentless desire to know more than you should, as soon as you desist your whining...and when I am quite ready, as you so politely suggested.''

Harry refrained from shaking his head in despair at the man's complete childishness and clamped his mouth shut, though was unable to keep the hopeful, eager expression off of his face. Snape refused to make eye contact, wiping his hands on a napkin with a sour expression, as though he was deliberately keeping Harry waiting for as long as possible.

Harry bit back any comments. He knew that if he tried to hurry the man, it would only give him an excuse to further delay. Whether Snape had also been sworn to a certain amount of secrecy, or was just prolonging his suffering for his own amusement, Harry didn't know, though neither would surprise him.

''It has been the headmasters wish, Mr. Potter,'' Snape begun slowly and with obvious reluctance, ''that you were to know as little as possible this summer, in light of certain events that took place last year...in the graveyard of the Dark Lord's father to be precise. You are aware, I presume, of the connection between your minds?'' Harry nodded. ''Then you will also be aware of the potential problems this could cause. Professor Dumbledore does not put a possible attempt at possession past the Dark Lord, and neither do I.''

''You mean...'' Harry asked with a small frown, finding the idea immediately hard to accept, ''he'll try to take over my mind?''

''Possibly,'' Snape answered, sounding completely unconcerned. ''It would not be an incredibly bright idea, therefore, to have all of the headmaster's plans laid about inside your head, in particular, do you not think?''

Harry had never considered this and it took a moment to process. This brief explanation was no relief to the greater amount of his questions, like why Dumbledore was so blatantly ignoring him, and why he couldn't have told him this himself. Surely there were some things he could have been told...things Voldemort already knew.

''I am to teach you occlumency in an attempt to aid you in closing your mind against such manipulation,'' Snape continued before Harry voice his confusion, ''as for the Dark Lord's activities...''

''You can't tell me,'' Harry finished lamely.

''Excellent, Mr. Potter. You may have potential yet,'' Snape sneered, voice full of sarcasm. ''Do not tell me that the thought did not cross your mind. You must have worked out the headmaster's plan, at least in part-''

Harry sighed through an impeding headache. Snape didn't understand, as always.

''It's different...when you're alone and you feel cut off.'' He tried to explain so that Snape wouldn't hold this against him. He believed that there was a reasonable explanation for his own wild assumptions, but he doubted he'd be able to portray them in a way that Snape could appreciate. ''I had no one, there was nothing on the news, my friends weren't speaking to me properly, and they still aren't...I panicked. I didn't have any choice but to create my own ideas about what was happening! I was confused and...there were other things.''

Harry shivered at the memory of long, dark nights where distorted dreams of the graveyard kept him exhausted. There was only so much he would tell Snape. His fear was certainly something he'd rather die before confessing to the man.

''Don't -- Can't you understand that, sir?''

Snape stared back Harry impassively, his mind drifting through this new, revealing information that could, if he were willing to accept it, tell him a great deal about the real person that was Harry Potter. A faint frown soured his face further than normal, as he admitted reluctantly, that he knew exactly how the boy had felt.

Operating within Voldemort's inner circle, as a spy, was certainly a situation that made him an outsider. Being cut off was part of his job, though he wasn't going to share this with the boy, whom he loathed to such a degree it was almost physically painful.

It wasn't as though he hadn't known Harry would be suffering a very dark summer this year when he left school, after all that had happened with the tournament. He had been more aware of it than anyone. He just hadn't allowed himself to care.

''Very touching, Potter,'' he sneered. ''However, I have been aware for many years that I do not speak your language, and as I am not your psychiatrist, I have no desire to listen to such drivel. You now know the truth,'' he said lightly, deliberately keeping himself visibly detached to let the boy know, in no uncertain terms, that this was of no concern to him, and therefore, rejecting Harry from sharing any such personal feelings with him in the future.

There would be clear boundaries to their relationship, especially in such uncomfortable circumstances. Just because the boy was residing under his roof, Snape wanted it strictly understood that he would not, under any circumstances, be providing any soft of ridiculous, sentimental support to the pathetic child.

Harry tried to scowl but found there was a weight in his stomach, and a lump at the back of his throat, that made it impossible. Snape couldn't possibly be human, Harry thought, as his opinion of the Slytherin was taken to an even greater low. He'd just shared something quite personal and the man was behaving not just indifferently, but with unnecessary cruelness. Harry had expected it, but somehow, in making his pain known more verbally than he had before, the rejection hit harder.

He felt suddenly small and childish, as he did frequently in Snape's presence, but he knew also that his desire for someone to care about his pain, for at the moment it didn't feel like anyone did, was something every person deserved, no matter what age. Snape had no right to cast it aside without a glance, or at least recognition.

Anyhow, Harry hadn't waited all summer to be told so little, but he could see where this was going and, with a sharper hatred than ever, he snarled, ''so what _can _you tell me?''

Snape leaned back in his chair and eyed Harry carefully, knowing exactly the conflict in the boy's mind that made him so miserable.

However, there was nothing he could do, willingly, to ease Harry's discomfort, even if the smallest, most repressed part of him wanted to, in order to make his own life easier. It was not his place to console the students, and certainly not Harry.

''There must be _something_,'' Harry insisted, holding Snape's gaze and attempting to silently convey to the man, in a moment of ridiculous hope, how much he wanted sufficient information on Voldemort, and just simple peace of mind, all of which he could so easily give. Predictably, Snape blinked against the onslaught and glanced away in irritation.

''The Dark Lord is mobilising an army...of sorts,'' he added briefly, his voice more terse than before. ''He is recruiting from all sources, gaining all the support he can from within the shadows. He does not yet wish to make his resurrection public knowledge. The Minister's ignorance is therefore working greatly to his advantage.''

''He's not killing people?'' Harry asked softly, allowing himself to hope.

Snape did not so much as flinch. ''Oh, he is,'' he replied quietly, his expression giving nothing away as to his feelings, ''though not on large scale, that is yet to come. However, this makes him no less of a threat. His power is vast and rapidly growing. There are many other methods he can use to get what he it is that he desires.''

''And what is that?'' Harry asked, though he feared he already knew the answer. ''What does he want?''

Snape's eyes darkened a fraction, and for once, his intense gaze did not shift from Harry's own, but remained burning with repressed passion that Harry could not quite place. ''He wants nothing more, at this moment in time, than to kill _you_, Mr. Potter.''

Harry winced, he couldn't help it, and heard Snape sneer at his unguarded reaction. ''The truth is not always what you want to hear, is it?''

Harry remained silent, refusing to give Snape the satisfaction of hearing his voice waver. This man was the last person he wanted to discuss his morality with.

''Before you let this idea run away with you, Potter,'' Snape said suddenly, not missing the fear that had edged its way onto Harry's face, ''and convince yourself that you are the most important thing on the Dark Lord's agenda, let me assure you that you are but one, small obstacle obstructing his way to absolute power. Once he has disposed of you, he shall move on to far greater, more destructive elements than your personal demise. He strives for totalitarianism, a world in which only his most faithful followers have a role.''

Harry kept his jaw tight, frowning into Snape's face, uncomprehending. What was the man trying to say? That Voldemort's rise was inevitable? That he, Harry, had not even a shred of hope against such a force? And that he, Snape, would always be assured a place in this world, whichever side was to win. This is why he hated talking to Snape; he made everything so sinister, more real and gritty than it had to be for explanations sake.

Why could he not just be indifferent, as he was before, if he couldn't lower himself to actually pretend to give a shit about his survival, instead of showing his clear appreciation for the concept of Harry Potter in an early grave? The way he talked about Voldemort was nothing short of sick. Harry knew no other way to describe it. Either Snape was very good at his job or he really was consumed wholly into Voldemort's ranks. It was as though he didn't even want Harry's trust, and was content for the boy to doubt in his loyalty.

''You want to be treated as an adult, Potter, then you must comprehend me as one,'' Snape snapped, impatient as Harry's frown of confusion turned into a full on glare, ''Or shall I explain it as though you were a child? The Dark Lord, Potter, in short, strives for world domination, can you understand that?''

Harry nodded shortly. He needed to keep his anger in check, and refrain from answering back, if he wanted to find out anything more. He hadn't waited this long to blow his chances now. He took a breath, watching Snape watching him for a reaction, and knowing that the man almost wanted one so that he could berate him.

''And the Order?'' Harry asked, his voice carefully neutral. ''What are they doing?''

''That is confidential,'' Snape answered shortly.

''And wha-'' Harry begun, keen to keep the man on topic, but Snape had had enough.

''That is all I am at liberty to tell you,'' he ended the subject. He could not risk telling the boy more than he needed to know. Dumbledore had been very clear. ''You now know just as much as your peers, Mr. Weasley and Miss. Granger included. As I said, the Dark Lord is being extremely secretive in his activities. This period will not last long, and then you shall not need to ask such inappropriate questions. You, along with the rest of the world, will witness his crimes first hand in time enough. That is it now. No more,'' he repeated as Harry opened his mouth to protest, ''Only the Order know much more and, seeing as you are under age-''

''But I wa-''

''Want and getting are two very different things, Potter,'' Snape cut smoothly across him, ''I thought you of all people could comprehend that particular fact. I suggest that for now you simply put your trust, if not in me, then in the headmaster. He is not stepping into this battle blindly.''

His gaze held Harry's for a few more moments, before he dropped his eyes and reclaimed his cutlery, officially denying Harry the right to any more question asking. Harry was sure that there had to be more going on, but he knew he'd get no more out of Snape. Not for the time being at least.

Harry was forced to accept that he wasn't part in the fight against Voldemort at the moment. As much as he hated to admit it, Snape was right. Voldemort did have plans that went beyond the murder of a teenage wizard. And it would be pretty easy, as Snape implied. Harry was practically defenceless. He wasn't needed yet, or so Dumbledore thought. He was to be cast aside and prepared until his time did come.

Harry had always idolised Dumbledore; he'd never lacked respect and treated people with such, so it was hard accepting all these new facts when he'd suffered the opposite at the hands of the man. How could the man change his attitude towards him so quickly? It was hardly fair. He was back to cursing Dumbledore again. He couldn't help it; it was a constant weight at the back of his mind that demanded attention.

Harry felt the glare on his face and wondered, without much concern, if it would be taking up permanent residence this summer. Something very drastic would have to happen to lighten this mood. It seemed as though he had no choice but to put the current affairs from his mind, for the moment at least; he knew no less than anyone else now after all, and Snape never had treated him any fairer than the rest.

He'd have to concentrate on his training for when the time did eventually come for him to fight. Survival would be his priority now.

Dinner continued in silence. The scrape of cutlery and goblets being raised to mouths was the only sound that joined the soft mutterings of the portraits on the walls. Harry could not ignore them, no matter how hard he tried. He glanced up every now and then, involuntarily catching an eye of one of them and shuddering. They all definitely looked like Snape's; there was the recurring hook nose, those black eyes, each wearing a sour expression. Harry almost felt sorry for them.

''This house has been passed down through my blood line for generations,'' Snape spoke for the first time in minutes, looking around with a distasteful expression.

Harry was brought out of his thoughts and turned to the only Snape he knew who was actually still alive, and he had the unfortunate luck to be with. Snape nodded slightly towards the portrait to the furthest end of the room.

''My great-great grandfather, Potter. Rich beyond measure. It was he who attained this Manor through his connections with wealthy members of the Ministry at the time. On his death, it was passed to his son, and so the tradition follows. I, being the only Snape left of worthy blood, have this property in my sole possession. It is mine by right.''

Harry nodded to show his understanding, while simultaneously hiding his immense surprise. Why Snape was telling him this he hadn't a clue.

''Therefore, that riddled letter you sent but ten minutes ago, to Mr. Weasley, needs to be rewritten, do you not think, Potter?'' Snape sneered, his eyes boring holes into Harry. ''I did not steal this house, nor did I confound, murder or in any way bewitch any previous owners, or any other absurd ideas that you have been concocting in that over active imagination of yours. The Manor is not a show home for the Dark Arts, nor is it, in any way, cursed or used for illegal meetings between my colleagues.''

''How did you-'' Harry began, outraged. If Snape had read his mail he'd-

''Occlumency, Potter!'' Snape voice echoed round the room, full of malice. ''Do not try to hide things from me for you shall fail. Such _arrogance_. It shall trip you up again and again.''

Harry sat in silence, trying in vain to repress the red tinge that was colouring his cheeks, showing only too clearly his embarrassment. Damn Snape.

''When you leave this room, you are to redress that letter immediately. Be thankful that you are not further punished. You are lucky I do not care for your opinion on me, nor that of your friends, for the consequences would have been far worse if I had. Such idiocy however, I will not tolerate. Believing I would allow you into an illegal residence, of common use to the Dark Lord, was a foolish thought to have. However shall we rid you of such inanity?''

Harry glowered. How was he to know Snape hadn't stolen this house or used it for some dark purpose? What was he supposed to think? The man was a death eater for christ sake! He took a few deep breaths, his temper battling with his head telling him to stay calm. If he went any further Snape _would_ punish him and it would be far from pleasant. Harry sighed and muttered a quick apology, knowing that Snape would see straight through it.

Snape's eyes lingered on Harry for a moment longer, displaying clearly his disgust, before Harry could hear once again the soft clattering of cutlery, letting him know he was safe from further rebuke and interrogation, for now at least.

''In future, Potter,'' Snape said a few more minutes of intense silence later, ''to avoid any further foolishness, to which you are irrevocably prone, if you wish to know anything of such importance, I suggest you ask-''

''I _tried_!'' Harry interrupted. Snape could not blame _all_ of this on him. ''When we first got here, I did.'' He'd asked and been denied answers as always. Of course he was going to come to his own conclusions. This was just another of Snape's twisted ways of punishing him.

Snape looked up, a wicked gleam in his eye that let Harry know that he was enjoying baiting him in this way, now that his former anger, and need to make his displeasure known, had been satisfied.

''Hmm...so you did,'' he murmured, seemingly uninterested in his inconsistency. ''Ask me again now, if you must. It will save a lot of headache on my part in the coming weeks if we are to clear up any blinding misconceptions you may have now.''

Harry closed his eyes for a moment, sick to the stomach of this man already. He glanced at his watch, wondering how soon he could make his excuses and leave. He gritted his teeth against the poorness of his own memory. It wasn't working and it only made the situation worse, to be trapped here without time to measure how much longer he had to keep his composure.

With a shrug, he asked the first neutral question that came into his head. It would be better than to argue. ''Do you own any other houses? Or Manors? Is this the only property left to you or are there others?''

''There are others,'' Snape answered softly, glancing around, avoiding Harry's eyes as if the boy himself were not important in this conversation. It was just a necessity he wanted to get out of the way. ''I own a small house in London that I purchased on my own personal funding. I would usually occupy this residence during most of the time I am not at Hogwarts, of which I _do_ reside during term time, Potter,'' Snape answered his earlier question. ''There are two further family properties: a manor, significantly larger than this, in Scotland , and another smaller villa in Italy, which I confess, I have yet to indulge in."

Snape continued as Harry watched him, interested despite himself. Snape _was_ rich. Maybe that explained some of the man's superiority and pride that he emitted so arrogantly; not the usual arrogance but a kind characterized to Snape that put him in such a position that he thought he had the right to judge everyone.

Harry knew, without a doubt, that if Snape had lived in a cardboard box, he'd be the same snarky bastard. Money was irrelevant to a man like him; a man with nothing to live for but his own spite.

"I chose not to teach you in the privacy of my most commonly occupied London residence, as it is much smaller than here. It would not have been appropriate among other things. The Dark Lord believes me to be residing in London at this time, therefore your security at this location is secured.''

''But...You're not _in_ London...''

Snape shot him an annoyed look. ''Very astute, Potter. Your intelligence astounds me.''

''No,'' Harry scowled, ''what I meant was...What if he calls for you?'' His eyes strayed towards Snape's forearm where he knew the Dark Mark was, hidden beneath the black material of his cloak. It made him uncomfortably re-aware of his wariness of this man. He _was_ a death eater, even if he may not be an honest one now, he had been once. How innocent could he be? ''He'll know that you have lied to him. Won't he?''

''He will have no reason to believe I am not being summoned from London. There is nothing to suggest otherwise-''

''But-''

''The Dark Lord will not be strolling up to my front door, and knocking on it, if that is what unnerves you, Potter. Don't be a fool. It is simply a case of first apparating to Spinners End, before I appear at the Dark Lord's side, so that no suspicion is aroused if I am traced. Similarly, if the wards of any of my properties are breached, I will be made instantly aware, allowing me to take the necessary precautions to ensure the delusion is sustained. He will suspect _nothing_. You are not at risk here.''

''How can you be so sure?'' Harry asked sceptically. It still seemed a big risk in his eyes, to both him and Snape.

''Because, Mr. Potter,'' Snape said, and Harry could hear the exasperation straining his voice, ''Dumbledore deems it to be so. That is enough for me and should be for you also.''

''_Will_ he call you, sir?'' Harry had to ask. Goosebumps erupted on his arms at the very prospect.

Snape looked mildly surprised that Harry would have asked such a question, and took his time in answering. When he did, his expression was detached and his voice cold. ''The Dark Lord will call me if he requests my presence. I have no more control over his actions than you do.''

When Harry continued to look anxious, Snape let out a low snort, a satisfied smirk adorning his features. ''For someone so ready to declare their unwavering maturity and competence, you look remarkably reluctant to be left alone.''

''It's not that,'' Harry argued, which to an extent was true. If Dumbledore thought he was safe here, then he wouldn't allow himself to worry overtly. His resentment towards the man didn't go as far in causing him to think that he wanted him dead. He was far more concerned with the thought of Snape disappearing in the middle of the night, in a mask, at the summoning of the man that wanted nothing more than to see him dead, while he, Harry, slept on unaware, vulnerable and relying solely on Snape's loyalty to survive.

Harry would have to believe, one hundred percent, that Snape was on their side if he could face the thought of him standing before Voldemort while he was in his very house, at his mercy, with any confidence. Snape would have to be more than an excellent occlumens to lie his way around this. Harry Potter staying in his house, right under Voldemort's nose. Harry shivered again, something which Snape did not miss.

''I am more than aware of the dangers that surround you being here, Potter,'' he said, watching Harry carefully with rare understanding, ''they have been taken into account and believe me, if it were up to me, it would not be this way. I can assure you however, that even if _I_ am compromised, you will remain out of the Dark Lord's reach. The Order will escort you to headquarters. There is a firm system in place...''

Harry tuned out, comforted only minimally by Snape's words. He was staying with a death eater. He didn't care what the man said, they were both in danger, though at least less so than he would have been with the Dursley's. Here, he had Snape to protect him, however unwillingly.

''And you, sir? What would happen to you if he found out?'' Harry wondered aloud, asking himself if he even cared.

Snape seemed to be thinking along the same lines. ''That is hardly a discussion I wish to have with you, Potter,'' he said harshly, giving the boy a cold look. ''The Dark Lord believes that I am working for the Order for the duration for the summer, which in a way...'' his glance flickered over Harry and his lips curled into a bitter grimace, ''...I am. Therefore, it is unlikely that he will summon me at any time other than at night. Nevertheless, everything and anything that connects myself with the Dark Lord is not your concern. If I am called, you shall do nothing.''

Harry opened his mouth to speak but Snape held up a hand to stem the flow of what would have been a very predictable string of objections.

''_Nothing_,'' he repeated, ''it is of no concern of yours. I have no wish to clear up the mess from another of the your escapades of which you are so fond. You are not to leave the confines of this house any time without my accompanying you, is that understood?''

Harry nodded, defeated, wishing so much that it was fear for his safety, and not the weight of responsibility for it, that made Snape so stern.

By the sounds of it, Snape was going to make sure he was as unaware of his summonings, as much as possible, so it would affect Harry very little anyway. It wasn't as though Harry had a choice but to comply. If Voldemort called, Snape would go without a backwards glance and Harry supposed, in many ways, it would be better if he were ignorant of his departure. He could no better defend himself being awake than asleep, if death eaters were to attack.

Silence descended on them once more. Harry ate his way steadily through his meal, attempting to digest all this new, unpleasant information. A part of him wished he didn't ask such questions, but he knew only too well what _not_ knowing did to him. He'd been right to ask. The answers were never going to be the ones he wanted.

''You have more questions?'' Snape asked, pushing his half full plate from him and brushing his pale, immaculate hands on a napkin. ''Or have you finished inflicting me with your pointless drivel this evening?''

Harry let out a low breath in frustration. ''Was that a rhetorical question?'' There were many things he wanted to know, now he thought about it, though he doubted Snape would really answer any of his more pressing questions that he still wanted answered, despite the horrors that they would unveil.

Snape's eyes widened dangerously and he raised an eyebrow. ''Is. There. Anything?'' he asked slowly, pronouncing each word with great deliberation.

''There is nothing, sir,'' Harry lied, his intense need to be away from Snape overwhelming any further desire for more information.

Snape looked up at him with narrowed eyes. "Don't play obedient and sincere with me, boy, it is both uncharacteristic and unnerving. Ask me a question if you wish to know something."

''Fine,'' Harry cried, exasperated. No matter what he did, he displeased the man. He'd get the blame after all if Snape didn't deem his questions appropriate and refused to answer them. ''Why hasn't Professor Dumbledore explained anything to me himself? Why couldn't _he_ teach me this summer? He didn't bother to explain in his letter...''

"The headmaster," Snape replied, with the irritation in his voice that Harry had predicted, "has better, and more important things to do that teach spoilt, hormonal teenagers how to defend themselves-"

"He asked _you_ to do it!" Harry shot back, his own irritation flaring. Why could he never get just a straight answer? And why was Snape_ always_ looking to hurt him?

"Do not interrupt me," Snape cried, making Harry jump, "we'll make that your first lesson, shall we? What you have to say shall hardly be more important to what I have to teach you, shall it?"

"Of course not…" Harry mumbled, forking his food broodingly, feeling his hate for the man increase with each agonizing second that passed.

"I see your case of disobedience is much more extreme than I realised, Mr. Potter. You will not be able to avert your eyes and sulk in such a manner in the presence of the Dark Lord, do not think that it shall be permitted with me!"

Harry glowered. No matter what he said, Snape just twisted and manipulated his words into something he could use to reinforce his allusion that Harry was the arrogant, mindless idiot that he so believed him to be. Harry felt his insides begin to burn once again with the unfairness of it all. He couldn't win. He never had a chance against Snape.

"And yet another miraculous fault in the 'Boy who Lived'," Snape continued, seemingly unable to help himself, "there is no excuse for bad table manners, Potter. While in my house you shall eat your food in a civilized manner and not play with it like some animal, is that understood?"

Harry hands balled into fists. "Yes."

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, _Professor."_

The cold look of dislike on Snape's face could only be matched by the one Harry readily returned.

"I can see this is to be a long summer, Mr. Potter. More so than even I could predict. Maybe your disgraceful godfather should have taught you himself after all. It certainly would have saved me the-''

Harry pushed his chair back abruptly, causing it to topple over with the force and crash loudly onto the floor. He could feel the weight of the stares of every portrait in the room and fought to shut them out, but it only intensified his anger. His wand was pointing directly at the point between Snape's eyes, his face full of hatred.

Uncontrollable anger was boiling up inside of him as he finally reached his limit. A week at the Dursley's was enough to make Harry edgy. Add that to everything he'd been through over the last few weeks, and was still going through, his self control over his heated emotions already bubbling just under the surface didn't take long to explode as Snape deliberately pressed all the right buttons.

This is what Snape had wanted wasn't it? This is what he'd been pushing for since day one. Well here it is, Harry thought, eyes flashing. There was only so much he could take.

"You're the miserable, arrogant git, Snape!" he shouted, dinner forgotten, "you've no idea. You've no idea about anything! You don't even know Sirius, like you didn't really know my father! You are the _arrogant_ one thinking you are a cut above everyone else!"

"Not everyone, Potter," Snape said acidly, not moving an inch, though his eyes blazed, "just you and your pathetic father, and his little group of worshippers. You had the fortune not to know him. You do not have the slightest idea wha-"

"And you don't know _me,_ so what gives you the right to judge!?'' Harry yelled, not caring what the consequences of his actions would be. All he knew was that he'd had enough and Snape, sitting there making his life feel worse and worse by the second, trying to prove whatever it was he was trying to convince himself of. He'd had it. ''You sit there and shit on me like I'm something that's just crawled out of the gutter when you won't even give me the time of day to prove myself! I'm Harry. Just _Harry_. Why can't you ju-?"

"I know enough about you, Potter!" Snape spat, his own temper flaring, "arrogant, big-headed, mediocre just _like _your good for nothing father-"

"Furnu-"

"Reducto!"

Harry was thrown back across the room. Snape was there in his face in an instant, hissing down at him.

"You know less than you think, you stupid boy! Much less! You would not stand two seconds against the Dark Lord! Remind you of anyone?"

Harry struggled fiercely but some invisible force was keeping his back glued to the floor. "YOU BASTARD! HOW DARE YOU-"

"Temper, Potter!" Snape warned, every word he spoke dripping acid. His eyes held an almost manic anger, more intense than Harry had ever seen, but he was in no mood to evaluate it. He made a jerky, forceful movement with his arm but Snape was faster. He reached forward and locked the boy's arms at his sides.

With a snarl, he roughly fisted a handful of Harry's t-shirt, lifting him up with more force than he knew he should have. But right now he didn't care, he couldn't stand the brat. His fury threatened to override all other rational thought.

''Don't be a fool,'' he hissed, daring Harry to strike at him for a second time.

If looks could kill, the look Harry was giving Snape right now would have him keeling over in a second. Snape returned the expression with equal feeling, before giving Harry a final look of disgust and throwing him as far from him as he could.

He stepped back, ignoring Harry's cry of pain as he landed heavily in an awkward position on the floor. "I expected nothing more from you, Potter…'' he drawled, smoothing down his cloak as though he'd been touching something dirty, ''lucky really or I'd have been sorely disappointed. You are terrible at controlling your emotions."

"You bastard,'' Harry repeated, rubbing his arm where the hex Snape had hit him with still burned. ''Fucking hypocrite...''

"Perhaps, Potter, but that is of little consequence. How does my personal manner determine the vulnerability of my mortality? If I can shut off my mind, control my emotions…keep myself _alive?_ You can do no such thing, dim-witted as you are, and therefore your opinion on this matter, as with all else, is nothing but an irritation. You are ignorant, Potter. It shall be the death of you.''

Harry continued to glare. ''I hate you,'' he whispered harshly, gone past the point of caring. The uncharacteristic look of pure loathing displayed on his face did not suit him.

"The feelings mutual,'' Snape snarled, not missing a beat, ''though I fail to see the relevance in this matter. What _matters_, you fool, is that you pull yourself together for more than two seconds and damn well listen what I am saying. I cannot attempt to teach if you refuse to learn!''

Snape sighed suddenly. His eyes closed and he pinched the bridge of his nose, while Harry picked himself carefully from the hard floor, watching the older man cautiously.

The fury seeped from Snape as he saw Harry wince sharply and gasp due to the obvious pain in his arm. He knew he'd been reckless. If anything, he'd just made things worse. He could not allow himself to release his anger this way, not on the boy. Not like this. He, being the elder and more responsible, should not have let his emotions get the better of him, but, try as he might, his mouth remained clamped tightly shut against an appropriate apology.

He couldn't bring himself to feel remorse. Not where Harry was concerned.

He did know, however, that he could not leave things as they were. He was sure to fail Dumbledore if he didn't put more effort into this. He flicked his wand once again and the creases of pain that lined Harry's face disappeared as his arm healed.

If he was expecting gratitude, he was to be disappointed. Harry looked extremely sour as he rubbed at his arm where the healing spell tingled.

This evening had turned into more of a disaster than even Snape could have predicted. He knew it was useless trying to get anything of importance through to the boy now, so he clasped his hands tightly behind his back and attempted to loosen his features into a more relaxed, less threatening expression. Needless to say, he didn't pull it off very well.

''Can you see now, if nothing else, your need to learn this?'' he said finally, his voice tense and strained. He was determined that something productive could be gained from this. ''Do you see now why it is imperative that you learn occlumency? You are here for a _reason,_ Potter, as trivial as that may seem to you. What if the Dark Lord provoked you as I have done, with things he knows are close to you to get a reaction? He would be able to read your mind like an open book! Go to bed, Potter and think about that. We shall resume lessons tomorrow."

Harry didn't need telling twice. He shot out of the dining room before Snape could say another word, slamming the door behind him. He clambered onto his bed as soon as he entered his room, his mind still buzzing with anger and rapidly inventing fresh insults to throw at the man he hated almost as much as Voldemort himself.

Exhaustion crept quickly over the loaded teen and he slept, fully clothed, having just experienced his first lesson of the summer, completely unaware.


	4. Incompatable

-----

Pride cast aside, Snape jerked his wand and blazing fire sprung to life in a dozen symmetrical fireplaces. A fistful of floo powder and the flames sparked an instant bottle green. He gave no thought to the consequences of his rash actions and the potential damages it could cause to his reputation. Severus Snape giving up? Had Harry Potter really beaten him?

Snape hissed against the onslaught of denial that fought against these impeding questions. He was not succumbing; he was merely seeing reason, putting right to the wrong that had been allowed for far too long. Potter had always been tarnish on his record, a black spot in his books.

Harry had not been out of the room for more than five minutes before Snape had thrown back his chair, with such force that it cluttered to the floor. He disregarded the fact that his violent actions were a complete mirror image of the boy's own earlier behaviour, of which he deemed emotion ridden and immature. Snape was not to be compared to the boy. His actions were justified, his temper completely rational.

At least that is what he convinced himself, as he endured jeers from his long dead relatives who so unloyally tormented him.

It was as though something had finally clicked as the slamming of the door behind Harry rung through his ears. A small button of reasoning inside his head that he'd steadily, determinedly ignored for the entire day, had been forcibly pressed and he could not ignore it.

Snape had been reduced to feeling a fool -- the last thing he would tolerate. He would not be made a mockery of. He should never have agreed to this complete and utter madness of a situation, arisen from Dumbledore's sole selfish objectives. He was fighting a losing battle. He had been since the moment he knocked on Potter's door and he would do it no longer.

The flames had barely begun to lick the hems of his robes before Snape was calling out his destination, his voice hoarse and impatient. He forced his eyes to remain open for the duration, even as his head span and he choked back motion sickness.

He blinked rapidly as fireplace after fireplace obscured his vision. A flash of gold caught his eye and he struck out a leg, bringing himself to an abrupt halt.

Dumbledore was still awake, despite the late hour, as Snape knew he would be. Sat at his desk in a magnificent blue dressing gown, he didn't look surprised to see his favourite death eater, turned spy. He got to his feet politely, manoeuvring around his desk in a few short strides, where he peered at his visitor through half-moon spectacles.

"I cannot do it," Snape said immediately, stepping smartly out of the fire. He ignored the knowing look in the older man's eye and swept forward. "He shall be the death of me."

''Ah, good evening, Severus,'' Dumbledore said calmly, motioning towards the chair opposite his desk in a manner that was so separate from Snape's hurried, agitated movements that it momentarily unbalanced the Slytherin.

Snape blinked, breathing deeply. Swiftly regaining composure, he nodded shortly and obeyed the request. He felt as though he had run a mile and knew it probably showed on his face. He was quick to mask his expression into one of controlled calm.

The headmaster gave his staff a long, searching look, surmising that the situation was not an emergency, and that no immediate action needed to be taken. He moved back to accommodate himself in his favourite chair, dropping his eyes to the many handed, marvellous watch on his left wrist.

He didn't doubt that by one way or another Harry could very well bring about Severus's death. But not like this.

"Five and a half hours, Severus," he said conversationally, a hint of disappointment in his voice, "less than I was expecting, I admit. I had hoped you'd make it a day or two at least."

If this statement was intended to invoke some guilt in the Slytherin, it failed. Snape remained stony faced as he contemplated his position. Convincing Dumbledore to let him bow out gracefully from training Harry would not be easy. He must avoid all forms of persuasion.

Revealing even a moment of weakness in his full intention to have Harry removed from his house, the sooner the better, would instantly kill his chances. Dumbledore would latch onto any insecurity and use it to his advantage. Years doing the man's bidding had taught Snape a few things about how his mind worked.

"So, tell me, Severus... exactly what is it that has happened, that is so unbearable, that it has brought you to me at this time of night in such a fashion?" Dumbledore asked softly, leaning back and fixing Snape with his intense light blue gaze. It was as though he knew exactly what was on Snape's mind, but did not intend use this knowledge in order to put the younger man at ease.

Snape brushed away the disconcertion invoked by Dumbledore's remarkable perception. He had to make the old man understand. He had to realise he wasn't right for this responsibility. He never should have accepted it in the first place.

"Forgive me, headmaster," he said solemnly. "It could not wait. Potter and I had...a disagreement."

Snape watched the older man's reaction carefully, but, when he wanted to be, Dumbledore was no easy man to read, even for him. His face was closed and his eyes obtrusive, as he inclined his head in understanding.

"A disagreement?" Dumbledore repeated thoughtfully, as if weighing up the word. The usual twinkle in his eyes was absent.

Snape got the distinct feeling that the older man could see right through him, and knew things about him that not even he himself did, despite his many walls that he assured himself, even after all these years, remained solidly between them.

As much as he wished for it, his talent for occlumency could not cover his past, or his nature, of which Dumbledore was far too acquainted with. Snape was a fool to think that he could hide anything from the man. Dumbledore did not look surprised at all, almost as if he were expecting such a failure.

"I understand. Please continue," the headmaster prodded gently.

Snape did so, trying to set out his argument in a way that would sound most appealing. He did not want to run circles around this.

"We do not understand each other. The boy has a manner…a character I cannot associate or connect with. I am unable to teach him, to get through to him on any level. It is a hopeless cause, this plan of yours to have me mentor him. It will not succeed. I tell you now, headmaster, you should rethink your strategy for training the boy and exclude me from it."

Snape finished his little speech, staring defiantly at Dumbledore as though daring him to challenge it. Dumbledore raised an eyebrow and met Snape's gaze quite calmly.

"I see," was all the older wizard said.

The silence that followed this simple response stretched for so long that Snape had to fight the urge to squirm, his nerves swelling. The heavy atmosphere between then did nothing to ease his apprehension. Disappointing Dumbledore was not something he enjoyed doing, but in this case it had to be done. What else was there to say? He had made his decision and was sticking to it.

"Do you trust me, Severus?" Dumbledore asked finally.

Snape held back a groan of frustration. Dumbledore wasn't going to make this easy.

"Of course I do.'' He struggled to keep the impatience from his voice. ''I am simply saying, this time, you may have misjud-"

"I am well aware that yourself and Harry do not see eye to eye," Dumbledore cut across him, demonstrating the authority and power he held under his usual calm, light hearted demeanour.

"I am also aware that you are the last person who would have volunteered for this job. True, Minerva, Sirius, Remus…any of these individuals would have been sufficient in preparing Harry for his...shall we say, date with destiny. None of them however, would I place as highly as you in possible worth to our Mr. Potter as _you, _Severus. There is so much you could show him...Your experience and knowledge in the Dark Arts, and with Voldemort himself, is unmatched. No one else could teach Harry the things that you know."

Severus rubbed his hand over his face. He felt bullied and bone weary of these discussions. He'd heard all of this before, and unlike on the previous occasions, they failed to have any influence over his answer.

''No.''

"He needs you," Dumbledore continued calmly, ignoring Snape's blunt denial. "He needs _your_ unique skills and talent to get him through this. You will find, I am confident, that Harry is more than-''

''Do not let us speak of the boy's attributes yet again, Albus,'' Snape cut across him, agitated and disinterested. ''I believe I have heard this speech before.''

Dumbledore bowed his head. ''Indeed you have, Severus, yet here you sit, again requesting the motivation for this task, of which I have granted you many times.''

Snape did not like the look in Dumbledore's eyes. He remained the one person whose thoughts remained a closed book to him, and it irritated him beyond belief. He could read of the emotions of any man, woman or child he was presented with, and pry into their mind as easily as he could brew a potion, but with Dumbledore it had always been different.

It was times like now that this aggravated Snape most. He had no idea what he was supposed to be seeing in the boy, or what Dumbledore was so adamant for him to find.

''What are you thinking, Albus?'' Snape growled. ''If you think I am going to-''

''I am not thinking anything that you would find remarkably interesting, Severus, I can assure you,'' Dumbledore said lightly. ''You have made clear your aversion to Harry's training quite clear.''

''I am not adverse,'' Snape assured him tersely, ''the benefits of my own involvement merely elude me.''

Dumbledore nodded slightly. ''Perhaps it was too much to ask such a thing of you. Of course, if you wish to disassociate yourself with my plans, I shall not try to stop you.''

''You know that's not what I'm suggesting,'' Snape said, his impatience growing once more. ''I am prepared to continue my role as a spy and remain a member of the Order. My loyalty has not wavered. However, with regards to the boy...''

''Are you trying to tell me that, while you will risk life and limb in remaining a spy within Voldemort's inner circle, you cannot contend with a teenage boy very much in need of your help?'' Dumbledore's tone remained casual and unthreatening, but Snape's lips tightened defensively nevertheless.

''This is not just any teenage boy, Albus, and you know it. I am not saying that Potter should not be trained-''

''Then what are you suggesting, Severus?'' Dumbledore linked his hands together on the table and gazed steadily at Snape, a hardness in his eyes now that exerted authority. ''That I hand him over to someone else? That I give him only a second rate chance at success?''

''That is not what...I want Potter to succeed, Albus, you know I do...-'' Snape stammered.

''A lesser chance is precisely what you are depicting here, Severus. If you refuse to take the boy, then I am left with little choice but to pass him on to someone much more inept at coping with his needs. We both know that hope, in regards to Harry's success, are limited at best. I'd hoped to give him the best pos-''

"Enough!" Snape cried, rising to his feet. He did not want to spend any more time discussing this. He wanted out and he wanted it done quickly. He would not be seduced by Dumbledore's manipulation.

''You shall not emotionally blackmail me, Albus. It is no concern of mine whether the boy lives or dies.''

Even as he said it, Snape felt his throat constrict and his breathing accelerate, bringing proof to his lie. He had not strived to keep the damn boy alive all these years to watch him fall at the final hurdle, they both knew that.

But the sacrifice it demanded of him to sustain his involvement in Harry's survival was enormous, suffocating and far too exhausting.

Dumbledore was watching him carefully. Snape grunted and turned away, so that he could think without Dumbledore's influence. His resolve was dwindling, even as he clenched onto it with everything that he could. He could not let that happen.

''You forget that I have tried, Albus,'' he said finally, forcing his voice to remain strong and steady. ''It has failed. We are too different.'' No matter his potential use to Dumbledore's cause, he could not control the boy. It would never work. Any combination that involved the two of them was fatal, any fool could see that.

''I think I shall be the judge of that, Severus,'' said Dumbledore, and then, far more quietly, he added, ''What is it that you are afraid of my friend?''

Snape stared. Afraid? He scoffed. Dumbledore did not know him at all. Or perhaps too well. He swallowed.

''You need to talk to me, Severus. I can help you through this. You do not have to do it alone.'' Dumbledore's gentle voice forced Snape's eyes shut. Why, oh why did he ever think that he could deny Albus Dumbledore anything? What had possessed him to come here? He never should have left the Manor, especially without a well planned speech.

His agreement to take Harry in the first place had been a dire mistake. He could not tell Dumbledore how he felt, for he'd no words to describe it. All he knew was that him training Harry was a bad idea. It could only end one way.

''Use your occlumency against the boy if need be,'' Dumbledore pressed on. ''You need not reveal anything that you do not feel comfortable with. Distance yourself if that is how you must proceed. Shut your emotions off from him, if that is the only way for you to be around him. Not that I'd like-''

''Albus...'' Snape whispered, rubbing a hand over his temple, ''you cannot ask me to do this.''

Dumbledore looked more serious than Snape had seen him in a long time, a grave expression darkening his face. ''Is there nothing that could convince you, Severus? Have you indeed given up-''

''Don't,'' Snape hissed, a burst of anger breaking through his resistance, ''don't you dare call me a coward.''

Dumbledore continued to watch him calmly, with an intentness that was starting to irritate Snape. Why couldn't the man just take no for an answer? Why did he have to make it so hard? He was doing the right thing! Harry was no better off with him, than vice versa. Hate could only lead to further hate,_ nothing_ could be made of it.

''You know I would never do such a thing, Severus. This is not a question of your courage but more a test of...your heart.''

Snape scowled his confusion. ''My what?''

''Precisely,'' Dumbledore murmured, almost so quietly Snape didn't hear. ''This is an opportunity for you to find it again, my boy. You must remember what is you are fighting for. I am not bold enough to say that I fear you may have forgotten along the way. I cannot say how this disturbs me, Severus. There is so very little you lay your emotions in these days... True, you have your potions and I know you find ways to amuse yourself...but, Severus, such an empty existence-''

''I thought this was about the boy,'' Snape cut sharply across him, an uncomfortable lump forming in his throat, derived from what emotion he did not know, for he rarely felt it. He passed it as anger, as he felt the urge to shout himself hoarse at the older man for making him feel such a thing.

''Ah, it is,'' Dumbledore agreed, ''I am merely pointing out a few small profits you yourself may gain-''

Snape snorted and gave the headmaster a disbelieving look. Enough was enough. ''Goodbye, Albus.'' He turned to leave.

''Have you finally forgotten her, Severus?''

Snape stood motionless, his back turned to Dumbledore, a hand full of floo powder. The only sign he gave of a reaction was the whitening of his knuckles. How dare he...? Yet he could not say that he was surprised that Dumbledore had turned to this as a last resort. He must be desperate, Snape realised, for he rarely brought this particular subject up. He knew only too well how it antagonised him.

''That was below the belt, Albus,'' he said without turning around.

''Forgive me,'' Dumbledore replied sincerely, ''but necessary, I am sure you agree.''

Snape turned ever so slightly, a deep sigh rumbling through his chest.

''Lily sacrificed her life to keep Harry alive,'' Dumbledore said softly, using Snape's silence as a chance to continue his argument. ''She wanted nothing more than for her son to _live_. I am asking you to help him do that. I think sometimes you forget that the two are related. It is what she would have wanted. That is why you agreed the last time, was it not? Harry is now our last hope of ever overcoming the powers of darkness that have taken such a firm grip on our world.

I am asking you to give him the best chance of dislodging that pain. For all of us. For _you_, Severus. Have you forgotten what it is to love? Think, my friend. You would be doing the world a great service in befriending its saviour.''

''I do not care for redemption,'' Snape spat, but Dumbledore was already shaking his head.

''I think we both know that is not true.''

Silence fell between them, and for the first time, Dumbledore did not attempt to break it. He sat quietly as Snape stood motionless, half way between his desk and the fire, making his decision.

''Things have changed since she died,'' Snape murmured finally, his eyes covered by a dark curtain of hair. ''She never knew this would happen. She didn't wan-''

''Lily Evans never expected to die,'' Dumbledore said softly, using his advantage while he had it. ''No mother would wish a burden such as Harry's onto their child. But we must do the best with what we have. Lily used to say this, I am sure you remember. Even when times were at their bleakest, she would radiate optimism... She would want you to do this, Severus. She would beg you to do this.''

Where the situation not so dire, Dumbledore would have felt much worse for using Snape this way. As things were, he had little choice. He'd no desire to drag up a painful past that Snape fought so hard to repress, but it seemed the only way to get through to him. There were precious few who knew of the Slytherin's unrequited love, censored to such a forbidden topic by the broken man.

Snape's hand relaxed minimally and the floo powder slipped through his pale fingers, dusting Dumbledore's oak floor with flecks of green.

Dumbledore sighed, suddenly looking and feeling every bit his age. ''I fear there is very little else to say, my friend. I shall ask you one last time. Mentor Harry this summer, teach him everything of worth you possibly can to prepare him. You have my faith and confidence and my guidance, whenever you shall require it."

Then he added in a softer tone, "I would not ask this of you if I didn't deem it of the greatest importance. You are entirely capable of making me a very proud man, Severus.''

Snape turned reluctantly to face Dumbledore. So many conflicting emotions passed across his face in the next few minutes, it made it difficult for Dumbledore to determine any possible response he would receive for his well rehearsed argument. If he knew Severus at all though, he knew what his final answer would be.

"You have destroyed my summer, old man," Snape said finally, though there was a hint of amusement, a lightness in his voice that hadn't been there previously. He raised his head and gave the older man a small, bitter smile. ''If it had been anyone else...''

"I know, Severus, I know." Dumbledore gave a small, understanding smile in return, relief washing over him. Snape had no idea how important this plan was to the boy's future. To the world for that matter. This couldn't fail. He couldn't afford it to.

Dumbledore held out a hand and Snape shook it.

"Then I assent once more to this laborious task you have set me…'' Snape confirmed, his displeasure not hidden from the headmaster. He wanted him to know every bit of how torturing he would find this task. ''Though whether or not the boy learns anything shall be entirely down to him, and if we kill each other…well, then you'll need to find a new savoir for the world. I suggest a more appropriate choice is made on that occasion."

Dumbledore closed his eyes for a moment. They'd had this conversation many times.

"You know that is not possible…It _has_ to be Harry."

Snape clicked his tongue. "I will never understand you. Nor a Potter for that matter…It is utter insanity," he muttered, moving to grasp a second handful of floo powder from the pot on Dumbledore's desk.

"He is not James, Severus," Dumbledore said softly, not for the first time.

Snape paused. "Perhaps he is a little more manipulative.''

Dumbledore gave a sad little smile.

"Open your eyes," the older man continued to Snape's internal roll of eyes, "you see what you want to see with regard to Harry. He deserves to be marked on his own merits, after all our heritage is not what makes a man."

Snape nodded his head absently. Dumbledore sorely hoped one day he would truly understand this. It would be a sad thing, he thought, if Snape never saw Harry for the great, selfless person he really was before it was too late.

There was so much to be loved in Harry... So much that Snape remained oblivious to in his refusal to look any closer than appearances. It doesn't bode well to live in another man's shadow for the entire of one's life. Harry did not deserve it. If only Snape knew how much of Lily was in her son…He was a fool to ignore it.

Harry could provide him with a living memory that no one else could. And Snape was giving up such a precious gift for a mere memory of a man long dead.

Dumbledore heaved a deep sigh, as Snape turned back towards the fire. True, he felt only marginally better than Snape about this. He was just human after all, and flawed as any other. His doubts as to this arrangement and to his overall plans, could not be ignored, even by himself. It was a long shot, but he had to try. Times were too dangerous -- too close to the end for him not to at least try.

Snape, feeling thoroughly more depressed, felt equally assured all the same. He knew why he was doing this, which was some comfort after all. Lily's disappointed, saddened eyes on him in the afterlife, that was proving ever nearer, was not something he wanted to be faced with.

That, and seeing the Dark Lord vanquished, however farfetched that hope appeared from where he was standing, would keep him loyal to Potter's education this summer.

He would not allow himself to be beaten by a child, least of all Potter. He could handle this. The boy would know his place by the end, he'd damn well see to it. If Snape was doing this, he'd do it his way and the boy would be forced to conform to his ideals. There would be progress.

Snape looked back to the one and only man to whom he was loyal, his hand holding the powder hovering momentarily above the fireplace.

"You knew that I would come…" he said slowly, "you knew that I would come, and you knew I would not deny you for a second time."

Dumbledore just smiled, eyes twinkling again. "I knew no such thing, Severus. You may gain from this experience yet, my friend," he said, waving Snape from his office back to the long, trying task ahead of him.

Snape snorted and stepped once more into the flames, sure of one thing: He was not doing this for Harry Potter.


	5. Reading Between The Lines

----

Harry woke next morning after a restless night. His nightmares had been persistent as always, acting as a dark shadow that constantly loomed over his subconscious, ready to disturb any sleep that he may be lucky enough to attain.

Admittedly, Harry had never enjoyed his summers, proffering to a great extent to be in the confines of his beloved castle with people that actually gave a shit about him, rather than competing with the resentment of the Dursley's.

However, this new unexpected turn to his agenda was hardly any more welcome. The next six weeks stretched out in front of him, an unknown path of misery and hardship on which he could barely see the horizon. He could find no possible means of escape.

This was it, the next chapter of his life, unmovable and impossible to predict. The Dursley's seemed like a fairly easy existence in comparison. At least the hatred that he shared with his relatives could remain passive, erupting only on brief occasions when the tension reached unbearable heights, whereas with Snape it felt like a constant battle. One that he could never win.

Harry sighed deeply and made a half-hearted attempt to get out of bed, but quickly gave up. He wasn't yet ready to face any length of time in Snape's presence.

Instead, he allowed himself a few minutes of continued relaxation, stretching out in comfort as he stared lazily at the canopy above him, lost in agitated thought.

He'd lost his temper completely with Snape once yesterday, almost twice, and he'd only been in his company for a few short hours. If this was going to be the pattern for the remainder of the summer, Harry didn't think he could bear it.

He was just going to have to try harder to please his mentor, and perhaps, on seeing the effort, Snape would relax his low tolerance of him. It was the only way he would get to live with any measure of peace.

Maybe he could convince Snape that he wasn't just a replica of his father and that he could be judged on his own merits. He'd show him, as well as Dumbledore, that he was at least worthy of acknowledgement if nothing else.

Harry snorted loudly into the silent room. Who was he kidding? Snape made his mind up about him the moment he stepped through the doors of Hogwarts four years ago, that was never going to change.

With a small grunt, Harry finally pulled himself out of bed. He didn't dare be late to breakfast, not after last night.

He padded into his en suite bathroom, taking a moment to appreciate the fact that he wasn't having to wait hours for each one of the Dursley's to finish with it first. Being at Snape Manor definitely had its upsides, even if they were greatly outweighed by the downs.

---

Harry found the dining room empty. The portraits were still sleeping soundlessly. He tip toed past them to the kitchen.

Snape was already sitting at the table in a long sleeved shirt and slacks, with a cup of tea and the Daily Prophet propped up in front on him. He glanced up as Harry stood awkwardly in the doorway but returned his attention, almost immediately, to the newspaper, ignoring the boy's tentative greeting.

Harry let out a deep breath before walking purposefully across to the table, sitting himself directly opposite his mentor, but still Snape barely acknowledged his presence. He eyed the man coldly as he pulled a bowl towards him and filled it with cereal.

Snape looked strangely more human, albeit tense, than Harry had ever seen him without his trademark black billowing cloak and stern, classroom expression. He did still look incredibly sour, but distractedly so. There was more emotion in the tiny twitches of his face, that showed something other than disdain or anger, than Harry had ever been granted with before as Snape grew more absent of his presence, absorbed as he was in what he was reading.

Harry knew better than to continuously interrupt someone when they were reading the newspaper, thanks to his uncle, so he kept silent. He poured milk onto his cereal, wincing as he slopped a little onto the table, conscious of the disturbance it may cause to Snape's concentration.

He was right to be apprehensive. Snape's gaze flickered up to him, giving a quick, almost absent scowl, before he turned the page of his paper and read on.

Harry sighed. Was this what it was going to be like? He knew Snape had no patience for mindless conversation and favoured silence, but this was ridiculous.

He dropped his spoon and cleaned the mess with his wand, suddenly not so hungry anymore. He looked around the room curiously and decided, with relief, that it was certainly much more preferable than the dining room. There were no portraits here, not even a single picture.

Morning light was filtering through the sides of the windows, despite the fact there were thin black curtains drawn across them, leaving them in semi-darkness. A single candle burned in the centre of the table, giving the room an intimate glow and Harry was reminded once again of the potion master's desire for the dark and peaceful.

''Do you wish to eat your breakfast stale, Potter?'' Snape asked shortly, without emotion, when he registered the fact that he was not the only one without an appetite.

''No, sir,'' Harry replied dully. ''I don't want to eat it at all.''

Snape shot him a scathing look and it didn't take Harry long to work out that his mentor would derive some selfish, ungrateful meaning from this comment.

''But I will,'' he said quickly, reclaiming his spoon with forced enthusiasm. ''Thanks, sir. For the-''

''Just eat it, Potter,'' Snape snapped irritably, ''It's hardly a full English breakfast. No time and effort was wasted on its production, I can assure you.''

Of course Harry knew this. The dust on the cereal box and equally cardboard taste on his tongue alerted him to the fact that this food may very well be hundreds of years old.

However, he ate it anyway. He knew he'd need the energy later and wasn't going to act the spoilt brat that Snape expected him to be, and have it taken away from him.

The minutes dragged on as Harry chewed, without tasting, and Snape could have been a marble statue for all the signs of life he emitted. He'd obviously decided not to mention their fight the previous night, which Harry had no problem with. If Snape was going to act like nothing happened, so could he. It wasn't like there was any love lost between them.

Harry cleared his throat a few times, unsure whether he should be searching for the courage to make conversation, or let the silence continue to fill the room and increase his discomfort. There were many things he could ask Snape.

He couldn't deny the intrigue that had gripped him since entering this house and the stream of unanswered questions that were connected to the man, suddenly making him far more fascinating than Harry had ever believed him to be.

He realised only now that there may very well be a lot more to Severus Snape than he knew, but he understood equally as surely that he wasn't in a position to easily find any sort of answers. Snape had already made his aversion to his natural thirst for knowledge very clear.

But if they knew each other better and had more insight into each other's lives, maybe there would be less friction, fewer arguments...and less misunderstanding and prejudice, or so Harry hoped. Maybe they'd hate each other just a little bit less.

Although Harry did have a deep unforgiving hatred for the man, bitter and more intense than he felt for anyone else other than Voldemort, he couldn't deny the fact that he was deeply intrigued by Snape and everything he hid behind that mask. A revelation of his secrets may pave the way for forgiveness.

There was a slight rustling of paper. Snape's cold eyes caught his, and Harry swallowed thickly. No, that was the last thing Snape wanted. They would never get on. The man's eyes alone could chill him to the bone.

Snape raised an eyebrow ever so slightly in enquiry at finding Harry looking at him yet again, though there was more irritation in that gaze than curiosity.

Harry cleared his throat and scrambled for an excuse for his blatant staring. ''Could you pass the milk please, sir?''

Snape's eyes dropped to Harry's bowl, where his soggy cereal could hardly contain any more moisture, and gave the boy a strange look.

However, he said nothing, and with a lazy flick of his wand the carton went flying down the table at an alarming speed.

Harry's hand shot out from pure instinct and caught it, by his fingertips, just before it crashed to the floor. He hadn't been the youngest seeker in a century for nothing. He grinned as he pulled it toward him.

He completely missed the flicker of surprise that passed across his mentors face and the small, reluctant smirk of amusement that followed it as he returned his attention back to the newspaper.

"I also slept well," Harry continued flippantly, quickly becoming bored with the ongoing silence. Someone had to lighten the mood, even if it did lead to an argument. Anything would be better than this strained atmosphere. ''It got a little drafty later on in the evening but nothing too serious. You might want to have the fireplace checked out. It wasn't working all that great yesterday...In fact none in this house seem to be on. Strange.''

Harry ignored the warning look in Snape's eyes and continued with determination. ''Pillows were plumped to acceptability, though there may have been a pee under my bed, it was rather uncomfortable-''

"Enough cheek, Potter," he cut across him, his voice low and dangerous. ''Was there a point you were attempting to make, aside from giving me a headache?''

He looked positively bored and resigned as he folded the paper and placed it back on the table, eyes all the while daring Harry to defy him. His resolution to attempt to also be less hostile with Harry was already being tested. The boy didn't make it easy.

The disasters of the previous night were still at the very front of his mind and Harry would have to show some miraculous change in his attitude for his mood to improve.

Harry shrugged. Whatever point he had been trying to make was obviously lost on Snape, and he'd run out of nerve to elaborate further. ''No.''

He gave a small sigh but didn't say another word. It helped his temper to humour the man, rather than fight him every step of the way, but even this was hard with Snape. He made retaining a sense of humour very hard. He just seemed to vent darkness and misery in every possible way, and Harry couldn't help but be infected by it.

The silence was broken only by Snape snorting or sighing every now and then as he flicked the pages of the paper. Harry hadn't seen him pick it back up again, but he must've done as he was sure he'd already read it through, cover to cover. At least twice. Snape was just as obsessive with his every day, private life as he was with his potions it seemed.

Just when Harry was about to ask whether he could have a drink, Snape finally spoke.

"Do you read the paper, Potter?" he asked, tapping his mug with his wand to reheat the cold contents.

"Er…sometimes," Harry answered nervously, caught off guard by the question. "I mean, well I buy it and check the front page. There is never anything about any deaths or disappearances-"

"Constant vigilance…" Snape murmured, shaking his head slightly at Harry's dazed expression. "Surely Mad Eye Moody, imposter or not, has succeeded in teaching you that at least? You must do more than simply scan the front page of the paper these days to find anything of importance."

"So there _have_ been more deaths?" Harry asked, paling.

Snape sighed, and Harry realised for the first time that maybe his staying would not be the only thing weighing on the potion master's mind. Of course he would have worries of his own. He was a spy after all and was very involved with the movements of the Order. Harry kept forgetting. All that was going on in Voldemort's ranks would affect Snape more than anyone.

"Deaths, torturings, disappearances …'' Snape muttered, bringing his mug to his thin, slightly chapped lips, his expression dark, ''it is all happening, it is just not reported. There are certain...individuals set on denial. There are few on whom we can depend. Our very own minister of magic is under the impression that he's leading the wizzarding world to salvation. He refuses to believe that the Dark Lord has indeed returned, when it is becoming increasingly evident each day that he has."

"You mean Fudge? But _we're_ fighting right?" Harry asked eager for answers. Surely if Snape couldn't tell him _what_ they were doing he could at least let him know they were doing _something_. It would make him feel better if nothing else. If Fudge wouldn't fight, surely Dumbledore would. ''The Order? They're fighting him. They're stopping him-"

"There is no stopping the Dark Lord, Potter," Snape said sharply before fixing Harry with a curious expression, ''apparently not until you are ready to step up to him."

Harry returned his gaze, determined not let himself look away. Did Snape really think he could beat Voldemort? Him? The useless child who he wouldn't trust to hold so much as a candlestick if it had his name on it. Snape's searched Harry's own eyes with a look the young wizard had never seen before. Not from Snape anyway. #

Harry narrowed his eyes but a moment later Snape's mask of indifference was firmly back in place as he passed across the paper.

"Read it and tell me what their main subject is. What _are_ they interested in?"

It didn't take Harry long to work this out. His name appeared at least once on every page, snuck in and making no particular point, but implying each time that he some sort of lunatic crackpot; a joke.

His heart sank a little further as he felt a burst of hatred for the fickleness of the nation as a whole. He wasn't a liar. He wasn't a madman. Just a month ago he'd been there hero. Now the whole world hated him. He really was alone.

"Not very complimentary is it?"

Harry looked up at Snape's voice to find him watching him very carefully for a reaction. He should have known Snape would be on their side. He was more judgemental than anybody, and he had his own prejudices to begin with. There were bound to be many more like him out there.

Harry swallowed uncomfortably. How could the world hate him? They didn't even know _him_. Just the name. Neither did Snape, but he supposed he was just the perfect representation of the growing Anti-Harry Potter groups that were beginning to dominate the wizzarding world.

No, it wasn't complimentary, but Harry could see the idea behind what they were doing. Discredit him, and discredit his word. If the mad, cursed boy, who'd finally cracked, said Voldemort was back, who in their right mind would believe him?

"I guess 'Harry the Hero' simply doesn't cut it anymore…" Snape mused, believing, without a doubt, that Harry would be crushed at his lack of popularity at the present time. He delighted in being the one to break the news of the population's rapidly changing opinion on the boy to him in person. He'd been waiting for this from the moment Harry Potter had been labelled a hero, at just a year old, for doing no more than costing his parents their lives.

"It is a different market these days I am to understand. Tell me, how does it feel to know the whole world is no longer in love with Harry Potter?"

The muscles in Harry's face tightened as he pushed the paper from him with distaste. He felt his blood pressure increase as Snape mocked him.

''Tell me, Potter,'' Snape sneered, wondering with a sick kind of pleasure, just how far he could push the boy until he cracked again, ''what is it about this persistent fame that so appeals to you?''

Harry's fingers whitened around his spoon but he tightened his lips, refusing to give Snape the satisfaction of seeing him lose control again so soon, for that is surely what he wanted. Harry willed his hands to stop shaking. What was the matter with him? He didn't usually have to fight so hard to control his anger, not even round Snape.

He was not over his previous encounter with Voldemort, he knew it, and Snape was playing on his weaknesses, using this fresh information to stir up rage in him. Harry felt barely anything towards the editor of the damn newspaper. It was just a brush of irritation when compared to the anger that Snape's own personal remarks caused.

''I doubt even Lockhart was in the papers as frequently as you manage to _slither_ your way in...'' Snape continued. He'd waited a long time for this. People were finally seeing things his way. He wouldn't be denied the satisfaction of causing the boy this grief. ''Though you never have been one for subtlety have you, Potter? No, constant rule breaking and disobedience is a much more effective way of getting yourself press attention...the one talent I believe I am able to compliment you on.''

''Shut up,'' Harry hissed. He knew what Snape was doing and it wasn't going to work. They were words, just words and they couldn't hurt him.

"It's always _you_ though isn't it, Potter?" Snape provoked him further, revelling in his cruelty.

His lip curled into a sneer as he watched the effects of his words on the Gryffindor. He doubted he could ever be pleasant to the boy and not enjoy this vindictiveness, even if his very life was at stake. An opportunity like this was too good to pass up, no matter what the consequences of the boy's temper would be and the set back it would cause to the civility he'd attempted so far this morning.

"No matter the story…you're in there somewhere. Shame dear Rita Skeeter isn't still about, she would be on your side of the fence surely."

''They're trying to discredit me,'' Harry said through gritted teeth, ''you know that full well-''

''Of course they are,'' Snape replied smoothly, ''and why would they need to if you hadn't made such an idol out of yourself?''

Harry's eyes snapped up, unable to believe his ears. His anger was momentarily thrown off balance as he stared at Snape in disbelief. ''You...you're blaming this on _me_? Voldemort killed my parents! If that hadn't happened I'd be...I'd be _normal_. The newspapers wouldn't give two shi-''

''So, you ventured down into the Chamber of Secrets in your second year because the Dark Lord killed your parents, Potter, is that what you're trying to tell me?''

''No!'' Harry cried. Snape just didn't understand him. All these unfair assumptions he kept making were just unfair and unbelievably biased. If the wizzarding world were thinking like Snape, he'd have no chance in ever getting their approval. He didn't want the fame! He'd never wanted it. He opened his mouth to tell Snape exactly that but the man hadn't finished.

''Yet that you did, Potter! Wherever there is trouble you are there at the heart of it! Do you observe no tedious pattern? Are you that incompetent?''

Harry closed his eyes, very close to clamping his hands over his ears and humming very loudly, however ineffective this would be. He let out a slow breath instead and forced the muscles in his face to relax.

''You are in the paper,'' Snape snarled, leaning forward so that his face was close to Harry's, done with playing games. Harry stared back at the hateful man, able to make out every tiny mark on his sallow face.

''...Because you attract unnecessary attention at every corner you turn. You crave publicity, Potter, do not try to deny it. I may be the only one left sane in this world who can see that, but it doesn't change the truth of the matter. Things are changing and you shall soon learn your true place. Your unearnt fame may have started with the Dark Lord's attempt on your life, but you've sustained the illusion of being a _hero_ by deliberately placing yourself in danger since day one.''

Harry failed to see the reasoning behind Snape's words. Is that what he really thought? Is that why he hated him so much? If so, then what an earth was he supposed to do to prove otherwise? Be someone else? Stop doing what it was in his nature to do? If that's what he was doing...'playing the hero'...if that's what it meant when he was trying to save the lives of his friends, or stop Voldemort, then he'd continue to do so whether it appealed to Snape or not. He didn't have a normal life. He didn't have a choice! What did Snape expect him to do, sit back and let Voldemort tear his life further to pieces?

"I do what I have to do,'' Harry said quietly, throat dry, ''I don't expect you to understand that.''

Snape's face immediately pulled into an ugly expression, showing his displeasure at Harry's words.

''If you honestly believe that, Potter then you are sadder than I imagined. You are your fathers son through and through, it is almost uncanny. Though at least he understood the extent of his immaturity and accepted it for all its recklessness and stupidity. You cannot even express what it is that you have become.''

Harry scrunched his eyes against his impeding headache and let his fists relax on the table. If he had ever been unsure of the extent of Snape's utter abhorrence for him, it was no more. It was extremely depressing to know that he was hated, not for himself, but for what someone believed him to be.

He reluctantly re-opened his eyes and attempted to repress all the hurt and misery he felt, to where Snape couldn't see, but the man's gaze was piercing and Harry had not doubt that he was enjoying every minute of his pain.

''Well, at the end of the day, you know what they say…'' Harry said calmly as Snape leaned back in his chair, dark eyes cold and calculating. He wouldn't let himself be beaten this way. Snape was a fool. He could believe what he wanted. Harry would retain all of the humour he still possessed, until it could survive no more under the smothering of his mentor's hostility. ''No publicity is bad publicity. If what I do gets me in the papers, who am I to complain?''

Snape's eyes widened in achievement as he looked up sharply, his strongest suspicions confirmed about the boy's arrogance and love of fame.

He found Harry grinning however and had to swallow his snide comeback. Harry laughed out loud at this. "You really don't think a lot of me, do you?" he asked a little sadly.

Snape frowned, put off. "You know I don't, Potter." He was caught between annoyance and satisfaction at being unable to successfully provoke the boy. Another chance to berate Harry would certainly have been enjoyable for him but he wasn't one to delay progress, and these signs of self restraint from Harry were promising.

Silence fell over them once again, for a few minutes longer, and Harry continued to push his breakfast round his plate, having lost all enthusiasm to eat it.

''Do you plan on eating that?'' Snape snapped irritably as Harry's spoon clattered around his bowl, breaking into his lines of thought, ''if not, may I suggest you leave the room until your presence is once again required?''

Harry blinked, refusing to feel hurt by Snape's total disregard of him. He pushed his chair back slowly and hardened his features. He knew very well the feeling of being unwanted, it was not alien to him. He could deal with this, just like he had at the Dursley's.

Deciding to forget finishing breakfast and ignoring the lump in his throat, he asked, "What time is the first lesson?"

"I did not compose your timetable for my own benefit," Snape replied lazily, returning his attention once again to the newspaper, in a furious desire to cast the boy from his mind.

''Right,'' Harry muttered, leaving the kitchen quickly to be away from the older man's constant judging, hatred and prejudice before he once again lost his temper, or even worse, let his emotions escape in a much more humiliating way.

Snape sighed and massaged his temples as the door slammed shut behind Harry. He could feel a headache coming on. Antagonizing Potter, admittedly one of his favourite pastimes, would have to be taken down a little. They couldn't continue like this. He'd never teach the boy a thing in the state they were in.

They needed to find some sense of decorum if they were to survive the summer, and as the only mature person in this Manor, he'd be the one to initiate it.

Snape didn't find the energy or the motivation to leave the confines of his kitchen for a while longer. His thoughts strayed to Harry, despite his eagerness to forget him. The boy was more agitated and unsettled than he'd ever known him to be, not that that couldn't be excused by his presence in a big, unknown house, with only the reluctant company of his worst teacher and a very unpleasant end to a school year, but this didn't encourage any compassion from the Slytherin.

Harry's misery was not his concern. This wasn't some kind of holiday for the boy, the sooner Harry accepted that the better. It wasn't supposed to be easy or enjoyable. He'd no desire to ease the boy's comfort in any way when his own feelings of unease were very similar.

But at least one thing was looking promising. Harry may have some potential for occlumency after all, Snape thought mildly as he replayed breakfast over in his mind and lethargically turned over the pages of the utter rubbish set in front of him. Harry had controlled his anger very well this morning, and seemed, despite Snape's low expectations, to have learned from his mistakes the previous evening.

Snape's lip curled in amusement as he read the title of a particularly illuminating article named: 'Harry Potter: Just A Name Or Truly Worthy Of Fame?' Well, at least the Daily Prophet was getting one thing right, he had to admit. They were finally showing Harry Potter in a more realistic light. The world was finally seeing things his way.


	6. The Training Room

---

Harry groaned loudly when he arrived at the door to the living room, only to find his navigation skills had failed him. It wouldn't be the first time. There were so many doors and passages, Harry was always hard-pressed to know even what floor he was on.

This room was full of darkness and emitted a chilling breeze, and certainly was not the one he'd been searching for.

However, before he could even contemplate turning away, a faint voice called out, drawing him inside. It wasn't a recognizable voice, but it was calling his name.

Harry instinctively drew his wand, trying to shed some light into the opaque room, but it was as though some invisible force was blocking it. He held out his hand, expecting resistance but it moved inside easily.

"Hello…" Harry called uncertainly but his voice simply echoed back at him, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

He backed away a little, having every intention of finding Snape and questioning him about this strange, dark place, but once again the voice came, drawing him in.

Curiosity getting the better of him, Harry found himself moving cautiously forwards before rational thought could take over. Snape was far too careful to allow him to stumble across anything too dangerous... wasn't he? Harry swallowed back nerves.

"Who's there?"

As Harry edged in, step by tiny step, the door snapped shut behind him. He spun round, heart now beating frantically, but he was consumed by darkness.

"Lumos…" he muttered frantically, willing his wand to bring him some light. For the first time ever, it denied him. "_Lumos_…" Harry swore loudly. Snape was going to kill him.

This was no ordinary room. Harry could almost feel the magic in the air. Every nerve in his body stood to attention and he strained his ears listening for any kind of movement. He blinked hard in frustration, but it was no use. He was blind.

He shuffled his way back towards the door but it was as though it had never been there in the first place. His outstretched hands just met empty air.

"Snape?" Harry called, his voice shaking slightly. "Professor? If this is some kind of joke..."

Nothing but dense silence answered Harry's echoing call and he cursed under his breath, berating himself for his stupidity. Snape was going to curse him to high heaven when he found him in here._ If_ he found him in here.

How long until the man realised he was missing and bothered looking for him? Did this room only appear at certain times of day? The possibilities were endless. Harry began to shiver.

Time passed with agonizing slowness, Harry's watch bleeping at random intervals, though he paid it no attention.

He was becoming increasingly aware of his rising panic, as the cold of the room began to creep through his clothes. Surely Snape would find him sooner or later...

Something brushed against Harry's leg and he flinched at the contact.

Just as Harry thought he may just be stuck forever, a loud buzzing began to fill his hyper sensitive ears, becoming louder as he strained to listen. A small ball of light was curving towards him. He wasn't alone. It lit up nothing around it and cast no shadows, but brought light only onto itself.

Harry squinted, trying to make out what it was.

Finally, it reached him and began bobbing up and down close to his face, then circled him. Harry followed its every move, his eyes wide and uncertain. It began to drift away slowly as if encouraging him to follow.

It looked like a snitch. A tiny golden, glowing snitch.

Harry hesitated but followed it at loss of what else to do.

The snitch at least seemed to know where it was going and Harry drew comfort from its decisive movements. Minutes passed and still Harry had no idea where they were going, but for the first time in his life he hoped it was towards Snape.

Every now and then he felt the same disconcerting brush against his legs. Each time this happened he shuddered unpleasantly, the sensation making him feel nauseous.

After a while, he could feel they had begun to descend. His feet reached a lower level with each step.

Harry frequently considered turning back, trying again to find the door and calling for Snape until his throat was raw, but the strange light had begun to slow. Harry stopped also, that chilling voice once again reaching his ears, louder this time. It grew closer and closer until Harry found himself wanting to run, but he just couldn't see.

He stumbled backwards. A dark figure loomed over him and he brought up his wand, but his reflexes were far too slow. The stranger had yelled a spell of his own and Harry knew no more.

---

Harry came back into consciousness with a weazy cough, disorientated and dizzy. He was flat on his back and felt as though he'd just fallen head first from a building. He tried to sit up, barely able to think through the insistent pounding of his head.

The darkness had disappeared, but the room remained dim and chilly. As his surroundings gradually came into focus, he could make out towering shelves, filled with books.

He squinted at the floor around him and sighed in relief when he found his glasses just inches from his hand. Turning his head, Harry blinked against the ancient candles that sat in brackets on the stone walls, casting flickering shadows across his face.

The room was circular and Harry couldn't deny its similarity to the dungeons in which Snape taught potions at school, and immediately he hated it for that fact alone. The place stank of emptiness and the impeding misery that he so wanted to avoid.

He craned his neck upwards, but wasn't surprised to find not a single window. It only increased the sense of imprisonment. Harry couldn't make out a ceiling either; the opaque walls just seemed to go on forever into bleak darkness. There was an area of the floor that had been laminated and was marked with a series of lines and symbols, but this too was strange and meaningless.

He shivered slightly as the sweat on his face begun to dry. It was so cold but not as much as before, and his skin was still covered in goose bumps.

"Are you with us yet, Potter?" came a deep, drawling voice from across the room.

Harry started, jerking round to stare directly behind him. For the first time in living memory, he found himself comforted by Snape's presence. He wasn't going to die. Harry let out a deep breath and could have laughed out loud, but with a second glance at where Snape stood, his back to Harry, summoning books into his outstretched hands, he wasn't sure he dared to.

"What the hell just happened?" Harry asked instead, forcing his weak legs to take his weight. He scrunched his eyes against the vertigo this caused. His headache was only getting worse.

"I would ask you the very same question," Snape answered, turning to face his pupil, a sour expression on his face.

He's set but _one_ simple task and made it so deliberately straightforward that he'd have expected even a first year to tackle it with ease, but Potter being Potter had fucked things up as usual and created yet more problems.

Snape had hoped that they could advance quickly onto the next level, but he must have overestimated Harry's abilities. Not something he would ever have thought possible.

This was exactly what he'd feared, and he'd made Dumbledore aware of it again and again. The boy simply wasn't, nor would he ever be, ready for this level of training. It took more, Snape seriously believed, than Harry had, to become anything close to a wizard capable of rivalling the Dark Lord, and this view was only being further consolidated by Harry's failure.

"Please, sir…" Harry began, breaking into Snape's internal ramblings. "My head…"

"Would you trust a stranger if he offered you a drop of his firewhiskey in The Hogs Head?" Snape asked sharply, taking a few steps closer to Harry. He had no urge to ease the boy's pain just yet.

"What? No…" Harry answered, confused. He breathed in sharply as a particularly painful throb forced his eyes shut.

"Would you trust a faceless, mindless object with your life?" Snape asked his second question, continuing to ignore Harry's obvious pain which was only intensifying with each second in which he left it unaided.

He stepped closer, gaining a sick sort of pleasure in the boy's pain. His face was contorted in a silent rage as he waited for Harry to answer.

"No," Harry repeated, recoiling slightly. He held his breath, waiting for the inevitable.

"Then why in the name of Merlin did you follow a mysterious light, on an unfamiliar path, in completely unknown darkness, with trouble written in every corner of it?" Snape hissed, now face to face with Harry, his dark eyes boring into his, demanding an answer.

"I…I, I didn't have a choice, sir," he answered meekly, wincing at the intensity of displeasure on the Slytherin's face. ''There wasn't anything else I could do! There wasn't any other way to ge-''

"There is always another way!" Snape interrupted him. "Always! Do you honestly believe that you exhausted every other option available to you?…Used every other resource?"

"I couldn't…My wand wouldn't work!" Harry tried to explain.

"There is more than one way to bring yourself light," Snape said, more quietly this time, but the intended impact was the same. Harry winced and looked appropriately ashamed.

"I...'' Harry once again looked up at his teacher at loss for words. He realised now his very obvious mistake. Way to go Harry, he thought. Great start. First day of training and he'd already succeeded in making a complete prat of himself. ''I'm sorry, sir. I guess I didn't think…''

''That, Potter," Snape said coldly, cutting of Harry's pathetic excuses, "is exactly what happened."

They had much more work to do that he'd first thought. He'd be pushed beyond his limits at this rate to get the boy's training finished by the end of the summer, and no way would he keep these lessons up for any longer, no matter how much Dumbledore tried to persuade him. He had better more productive and enjoyable things to do that this.

Snape held Harry's gaze for a few more torturing moments before picking a vial of pure white liquid off a shelf and reluctantly handing it to his student.

Harry hesitated, a suspicious look on his face but Snape just snorted. ''Don't be stupid, Potter. If I were to murder you I would hardly do it with a potion.''

''What would you do it with then?'' Harry muttered, having no doubt that it would be something extremely painful. He folded his arms across his chest, feeling dangerously reckless in his hopeless state. Snape could hardly make things worse for him than they were at the moment.

Snape's eyes widened for a moment as if he were surprised Harry would dare retort in such a way.

Moving forwards, he levelled his face with the boy's and watched, satisfied, as Harry's face coloured and he shifted uncomfortably. Though, to his credit, he did not move and stared back with a bravery that Snape could almost respect, considering what he was in for.

''You wish to find out?'' Snape hissed, his dark eyes holding a danger that he knew Harry wouldn't misinterpret.

Harry hesitated, his own eyes widening as they flashed with fear, and quickly dropped his arms.

Snape straightened himself up to his full height with a sneer, and pushed the potion forcefully into Harry's hands.

"Drink," he instructed, ''I can hardly have you incapacitated for the remainder of the lesson. And do try not to spit or gag. That particular potion is extremely complex and time consuming in its production. You shall not be getting another."

Harry understood exactly what he meant a few moments later when the burning, foul tasting liquid came into contact with his throat. His eyes watered involuntary and, forcing himself not to be spit, he downed the rest in one large mouthful.

He spluttered and coughed as Snape looked down at him with a mixture of disgust and cruel amusement.

"Surely you could have flavoured it a little better?" Harry complained. The awful taste in his mouth made him cringe, though the pain his head had thankfully subsided. ''That was..._eurgh_.'' He coughed again but Snape only smirked.

"Of course I could," he replied, his twisted humour only fuelling Harry's increasing bad mood. He gave Snape the foulest look he could muster.

''Do not be so ungrateful you little...'' Snape snapped, a low hiss leaving his sentence unfinished. No insults would ever be a worthy enough expression for his feelings. ''I could have left you to suffer, Potter you should be grateful.''

He raised an eyebrow in expectation but Harry seemed unable to thank him.

''You're sick,'' he muttered angrily before he could stop himself, the potion still hot on his tongue, ''just...sick.''

''I must find amusement somewhere, Potter.'' Snape snatched back the empty vial and evaporated it with a lazy flick of his wand.

"Now," he said, his voice adopting the stern, efficient, no nonsense, classroom tone that came so naturally to him. "You shall tell me _exactly_, in as much detail as possible, what happened when you entered this room an hour ago and the potentially life threatening mistakes you made."

He ignored the younger man's hostile glare and settled himself delicately into a chair, his black eyes coming to rest reluctantly on his student as he waited for him to answer.

Harry took a deep, hesitant breath and began to tell Snape, as accurately as he could, what had happened and how he'd felt, in the hope of redeeming himself slightly. He couldn't help but wonder though, what he should have done in such a situation. It would teach him a lot if he were to know and he understood now why Snape had made him do it.

He told him in detail about the darkness and of the coldness that had crept into the very heart of him. He described the brushing against his legs, the sudden appearing of the light, and of the figure who he now knew the identity of.

"What _did _you hit me with?" Harry asked once he'd reached this part. Snape paused before answering. He'd remained silent up to this point, listening to Harry's stream of excuses without the need to speak, but now a small smirk curved his lips.

"I am afraid that I cannot tell you that, Potter,'' he answered, "it is a personal invention of my own.''

"Not illegal is it, sir?" Harry asked. He certainly wouldn't put it past the man.

Snape arched an eyebrow. "Are you accusing me of breaking the law, Mr. Potter?"

After a few moments of tense silence, Harry replied obediently, "of course not, sir."

Snape narrowed his eyes and gave the boy a pained look. ''Potter, if you are stupid, albeit bold enough to make such claims, at least have the decency to admit it, and offer some backbone, or else keep that mouth of yours _shut._''

Harry glared, infuriated that saying so little could get him into trouble with this man, but he nodded instead of answering back.

Snape inclined his head slightly in satisfaction to show Harry he had managed to do something right at last. They were finally getting somewhere and, for the first time, Snape felt the small, fragile glimmer of hope that the boy's case of defiance may yet be dealt with.

''The Dark Lord is aware of this spell,'' he continued, lowing his voice slightly, unsure whether he should tell the boy this or not. ''It is not one of his favourites but he does, on occasion, like to experiment and you need to be aware of what it is you shall experience should you be hit with such a curse. What I put upon you was but a shadow of the full spell and no, Potter you can stop your glaring, I would not partake in the pleasure of casting the entire of the curse upon you...as much as I may desire it.''

Snape had to admit that this malicious desire wasn't completely honest. He'd no real desire to see the boy in any sort of intense pain. He may not care for his comfort, nor his peace of mind, but he did have his limits. To cause Harry mild pain for the sake of education did not bother him, as it would any other, but Harry didn't need to know that his vindictiveness was not without its boundaries.

Harry nodded mutely, hardly believing that Snape was trying to justify his use of a dark spell on him when he'd obviously enjoyed it. He couldn't say how sick it made him feel when he thought of Snape, his reluctant mentor and teacher, teaching his twisted spells to Voldemort. It was not something that was hard to envision but it still made Harry shiver.

He tried to keep his discomfort from his face but knew he was failing miserably.

Snape knew exactly what the boy was thinking, the look on his face was not hard to read, yet he made no move to defend himself. He'd done many things he was ashamed of in his life...He'd done unforgivable things when he was young and foolish. He still did things that were beyond redeemable but these were not for the boy's ears, and he felt no need to justify himself to him.

"We are in a lesson if you remember, Potter,'' Snape brought them back to the present. ''Tell me what your instincts told you to do when you found yourself in this situation." Snape fixed Harry with that same firm stare and motioned impatiently for an answer.

"They told me…" Harry thought hard and decided to be honest. Snape would know immediately if he wasn't. "They told me to run to find you...to find help. I couldn't deal with it on my own. I didn't know what to do."

Snape continued to look at him for a long moment and then nodded, grateful for the unexpected honesty.

"Your instincts are important, Potter, you should listen to them, though in situations such as these your resourcefulness and magical skill will be what aids you most. As for seeking out myself...I doubt I shall be in any position to offer you any sort of assistance when you in the most need of it. Do not rely on myself or anyone else, Potter, it is important you understand that."

Harry hesitated and then nodded. He supposed he could understand this. On reflection, he had been quite alone when in life threatening positions before. But the thought of not expecting any help, or anyone there with him, and not to even have that option left him feeling incredibly empty.

"Following that light should have been your last resort, not the first,'' Snape continued when he was sure Harry accepted this, ''I shall show you an alternate spell later on today that is much more effective than the 'Lumos' spell which, I believe, is efficient but lacking in reliability; a surety you shall require in times of danger. Are there any other queries you have before we move on?''

''Did you make that task thingy up?'' Harry asked, curious. ''Was it another of your _personal inventions_?''

Snape eyed him shrewdly for a long moment, wondering whether he was being serious and was going to bother answering, Harry guessed.

''The task was derived from a similar situation a young witch, of whose name has been long forgotten, found herself in,'' Snape finally answered, ''her tale of success however, has been recorded in great detail. Her's is just one of the many autobiographies you are to familiarise yourself with this summer. Not all famous witches and wizards are known worldwide for as little reason as you, Potter. You would learn a lot from them.''

Harry's lips tightened but apart from that he showed no other outwards signs of anger. He would _not_ be as immature as Snape. He could rise above it even if the man couldn't. He nodded obediently and Snape's thin lips tilted ever so slightly in gratification at Harry's retained silence.

''Now, you shall be subjected to a number of these little scenarios during your training," Snape informed him, "each different, each requiring the use a different skill, whatever that may be. Each of which you obviously need to acquire if you don't already have, and further develop. You should, I would hope, show improved performance each time."

''Yes, sir,'' Harry answered, feeling nauseous at the very thought. If they all had the same after effects as this one he was going to be very sick by the time this summer was over.

"Constant Vigilance is something we need to work on," Snape continued thoughtfully, "you must learn to use your surroundings to your advantage. Never trust something unless you have reason to believe otherwise. You fell into my trap pathetically easily. Question everything, Potter you can't afford not to."

Harry nodded again, surprised at how seriously Snape seemed to be taking this when he'd been so reluctant to teach him. What he was being told was, he had to admit, very useful.

"What _is _this place?" he asked curiously, looking around more carefully at the large circular room, decorated with the obvious emblems of the Slytherin house. Of course, how could Snape resist? There were also a number of unidentifiable objects littering the room but Snape offered no explanation as to their use.

"Are we still in your manor?"

"We are,'' Snape confirmed, ''the space we occupy now is known as the Training Room, not unlike the room of requirement hidden at Hogwarts, which you will undoubtedly come across one of these days I expect, thanks to your conniving mind and relentless habit for night time wanderings.''

Harry ignored the small dig and wondered, with interest, where such a place could be. He'd never heard of it... He made a mental note to tell Ron and Hermione about it.

''It was built by my great grandfather,'' Snape informed him lightly, ''I have no idea why, or how, so do not ask me. What matters is that it will supply us with anything we are in need of, whatever that may be. Alternately, it can be used as just a library, storage space....a potions room...Its capacity is endless."

''Wow...'' Harry breathed, genuinely impressed, ''and who gets to choose what it is, if it can be anything? I mean If I wanted a bathroom...''

''It would I believe fill itself with chamber pots,'' Snape answered with a quick glance at his watch, ''not that your needs are of any concern to this particular room. It answers to the owner of the house and that person alone which is me, therefore your bladder would become increasingly full, to point of embarrassment, if you were to rely on this place for a restroom to relieve yourself.''

Harry made a face. ''Ok...I get it. You don't have to be so _graphic_.''

Snape smirked in reluctant amusement at Harry's reaction. Harry was far more innocent than Snape would have expected. It had been presented to him in a variety of ways already, many of which surprised him. It reminded him, as Harry frequently did, that he was still only a child. ''As you wish, Potter. I forgot how delicate you were.''

''I am _not_ delicate,'' Harry snapped back, ''not at all.''

Snape raised an eyebrow. Harry was far more learned in some ways but still, his age was telling and he couldn't defy nature.

Harry ran a hand through his hair, the black strands moving to even wilder chaos than they were in before, as he considered how to convince Snape he was mature.

Snape was reminded strongly of James Potter in that moment, more so than usual in regard to Harry, that he instantly felt any momentary leniency he may have felt towards the boy as he considered his age, disappear in a heartbeat.

''You just don't-''

''Enough!'' Snape silenced him, his face turning so abruptly to a look of pure loathing that it momentarily took Harry by surprise. A moment ago the man had been almost casual. He guessed he'd never understand just how much Snape hated him. ''I have indulged your pointless babbling for long enough. Your training is my main concern Potter, not your petty complaints. The headmaster may pay attention to your constant whines for attention but do not expect the same treatment from me. I am not fooled by you, Potter I know _exactly_ what you are about.''

''And what's that, sir?'' Harry asked through gritted teeth, looking just about as venomous as his mentor, marvelling at just how quickly an argument materialised when they were together.

Snape's lip curled into a sneer and he pointedly looked Harry up and down in a demining manner.

''Your physical size, Potter -- being much less substantial than it should -- reflects precisely your mental capabilities. You are the child of a man who had passed on successfully to his spawn each and every one of his unpleasant traits. I hate everything about you Potter, down to the filthy socks that you are wearing, do I make myself perfectly clear or shall I elaborate further? It would not be an arduous task to do so, I can assure you.''

''No thank you, sir,'' Harry replied quietly, face red from the effort it took to control his anger and embarrasment. How on earth did Snape know the Dursley's hadn't given him any clean socks? ''You've made it crystal clear, thanks.''

''Excellent,'' Snape said softly, lip curling again in a way Harry had come to hate. It was as though he knew exactly what Harry wanted to yell at him, but also that he didn't have the power to do so.

Harry kept his lips held tightly together, refusing to let himself retaliate as he knew it would be useless. No matter what he said, Snape would not change the way he saw him, or what he thought. He tried to tell himself that he couldn't give a damn that Snape cared so little about what he had to say, or finding out who he really was, but it was hard when there were so few others he could talk to at the moment.

''What training are we doing then?'' he asked a little aggressively, trying to steer the conversation onto safer ground. Snape raised an eyebrow, eyes taking on a warning. ''Professor,'' Harry added quickly.

Snape sighed and he shook his head slightly as he examined Harry with an ugly expression.

''Words fail me...'' he muttered, but he was rolling up his sleeves and indicated that Harry do the same, obviously satisfied that he'd almost finished insulting him for the time being. ''You are a hopeless cause, Mr. Potter. It is only a matter of time until those in a position of importance notice this also, and change their plans.''

Harry didn't bother to reply, for he didn't know what this meant. Instead, he sighed deeply and allowed himself to dissolve into the darkness of depression that had been building steadily since he'd first set eyes on Snape this summer.

He couldn't keep up the level of argument that Snape seemed to provoke in him. Snape was ready with blow after blow but Harry was getting increasingly tired of constantly being angry. He could see how someone could be comsumed by it, especially Snape.

''Your training shall involve a number of components,'' Snape explained, his face relaxing once more into his usual distasteful expression, as though he'd vented some of his frustrations and was now impatient to move on with the lesson. ''Each of which we shall discuss at length at a later date. Today I am interested in taking an accurate measurement of your abilities so that our programme can be drawn in regard to your strengths and weaknesses, taking into account what you already know, what needs to be enhanced and what needs to be taught afresh. Do you understand?''

''Yes, sir,'' Harry answered dully but his lack of enthusiasm did not dispel the nerves that had begun to weave their way into his stomach at the thought of what was to come. It would not be easy, he knew it, and Snape would be harder on him than any other. He was in for a rough ride.

''Are you sure?'' Snape questioned him, totally serious, ''the door is that way if you wish to leave now. I shall not tolerate the stupidity and ignorance I have come to expect from you in your potions work. Be warned, Potter, if I sense for even a moment that you are not putting every possible effort into this training, short only of causing your own premature death, these lessons will come to an abrupt and very sticky end, do I make myself clear?''

Harry nodded, feeling forever more uncomfortable. Now he _really_ didn't know what to expect. He knew Snape was not going to be easy or fair on him, but it sounded as though he were planning on making the experience almost unbearable.

Harry was not oblivious to the fact that once again, Snape found it necessary to stress the point that he was not doing this willingly and that it was for Harry's benefit and certainly not his own.

''Then follow me,'' Snape instructed, eyes hard and cold, ''we have much to do.''


	7. Duelling

Snape led Harry to the enormous collection of books that lined the outside of the entire room, and ran a long pale finger over a shelf, collecting a large amount of dust.

''You are the first to use this library for some time, Potter,'' he murmured absently as his eyes scanned the bindings of those books closest to him, an intense frown adorning his features as he searched their titles.

Snape muttered a cleaning charm and Harry took a moment to crane his neck upwards and acknowledge just how vast the potion master's collection was. There were thousands of books...maybe more, he could hardly count. Harry knew Snape must be rich if he could afford all these, even more so than he'd first thought.

''Close your mouth, Potter and come closer,'' Snape motioned to his side with a jerky, irritated movement of his arm, ''Do not be so pathetic and act now as though you are afraid of me.''

''I'm _not_ afraid of you!'' Harry exclaimed, scowling as he closed the gap between them so he was at the man's side.

Snape raised an eyebrow as he looked down at the boy, stifling a small sigh. ''Then do not make me shout by distancing yourself so far from me that I have to raise my voice to be heard.''

Harry gave a short nod and stowed his hands in his pockets as he waited for Snape to continue with the lesson. He hadn't even realised he kept such a distance between himself and his teacher. It was just automatic, he couldn't help it. He must be more adverse to Snape than he realised, even on a deeper level.

"These, Mr. Potter are known as books. I trust you know of their purpose?'' Snape's voice forced Harry's focus back onto the shelves in front of him.

Harry rolled his eyes, hands clenching and unclenching in his pockets. He was sick to his back teeth of the man's snide insults. "No, sir I haven't a clue, would you care to enlighten me?"

''If you wish,'' Snape drawled, though Harry could have sworn something close to an amused expression briefly flittered across the man's face at Harry's attempt to humour him.

Harry blinked and stared, but the unfamiliar look had vanished as quickly as it had appeared. He sighed and followed Snape's now pointing finger to a chair that held a number of old, and new looking volumes, that he'd obviously been collecting earlier when he'd first woken. He now handed them to Harry.

''Where did you get all these books?'' Harry couldn't help but ask as he bundled them awkwardly into his arms. ''You can't have read _all _of them.'' He glanced upwards, wonder in his eyes. ''There must be-''

''Just under ten thousand,'' Snape remarked, watching Harry's facial expressions with interest. The boy had done nothing but mope since the moment he'd got here. It made a difference, and not an entirely unpleasant one, to see that he was capable of more. However, wonder and curiosity was dangerous, as Harry had already proved, and Snape was quick to warn him against recklessness with his property.

''I do not know them all by name, nor have I dedicated much of my time to discovering the many secrets that lie within their pages...But they are _mine, _Potter and needless to say they are very important to me.''

He fixed Harry with a firm stare and the boy nodded his understanding.

''Therefore,'' he continued slowly, in a tone nothing short of threatening, ''I hardly need to ask for your complete and utter responsibility when using them as a resource.''

''Yes, sir.''

Snape nodded curtly and motioned once again for Harry to follow him.

"I do expect these read, Potter,'' Snape informed him as he led his student back towards the centre of the room, ''this is not an idle task that I am setting you. You must read them to the best of your abilities.''

Harry swallowed and opened his mouth to protest but thought better of it. He bit his tongue but the impulse to complain however, did not go unnoticed to Snape.

''I am expecting no miracles, Potter,'' he said, a hint of exasperation in his voice, ''they are not an easy text and as much as you may loathe it, you _shall _be required to work this summer. It will demand of you a greater amount of exertion than that of which you apply to your school studies, if you wish to learn anything of importance.''

He paused and flinched slightly before he continued as if he was forcing himself to say something. ''If you cannot comprehend anything of what you read, after serious study, you are to ask me, is that clear?''

Harry looked at Snape in surprise. Ask who? Him? Surely not. He must have only offered assistance for formalities sake. Snape had never offered him any sort of help before, not even in class when he was so desperately in need of it.

The man's extreme reluctance to co-operate with him, in any shape of form, was only too clear in the tightening of his jaw, just one of the signs of displeasure he emitted, as he spoke. Harry severely doubted Snape's sincerity and only just held in a snort.

Snape could never help him properly and usefully even if he tried. No, he would be too tempted to be cruel and mock him for his insolence and they'd get nowhere as always. Almost immediately, he knew that he would only ask for help as a last resort.

''I mean it, Potter,'' Snape frowned at the expression on Harry's face and, for a moment, he did look extremely serious. ''You must put your preferences aside and communicate with me if you wish to succeed at all in your training. We both must.''

Harry remained uncomfortable but he couldn't outright refuse the man's help, not when he was actually making an effort. Snape was all he had for this training after all- no Dumbledore, no Hermione, nobody. He needed to get used to that fact.

''Alright,'' he agreed, vowing to hit the roof if Snape was as inconsistent in this as he was everything else and turned him away when he started to ask questions.

''Have no doubts that you will be tested on them,'' Snape continued when he was sure Harry was being truthful to him. ''You have been warned. This is not Hogwarts. You shall not receive detentions for lack of work. I shall simply have you returned to your relatives and I shall be free to enjoy my summer. Alone.''

''I'll read it,'' Harry assured him, not adding that Snape's summer was likely to be very dull without his intervention, no matter how much they argued. It wasn't as though the man had planned to throw parties at all hours of the day and actually have some fun.

In fact Harry didn't have a clue what Snape would've done had he not been lumbered with an unwelcome guest, except for making potions and constantly brooding. He didn't much fancy returning to the Dursley's either, not when he was beginning to make headway here.

"What do I have to read then?" Harry asked, stretching forwards as he tried to make out the labels, "they better not be Dark Art-"

He stumbled to a halt as Snape shot him a warning look, enough acid in his expression alone to make Harry extremely nervous. He swallowed thickly and looked at the ground, waiting for his teacher to continue.

"They are books that you will find extremely useful if you are to use them correctly," Snape continued, after what felt like a lifetime to Harry, his voice dangerously quiet, "they are from my own personal collection therefore if I find one mark…one spot of ink or torn page, I shall wring your scrawny neck and take you to Voldemort the next second myself and be damned with the consequences, is that understood, Potter?"

"Yeah, Ok Ok," Harry said hurriedly, hands in the air, "I know how to treat books, sir! Having Hermione as a friend and spending half your time in the library taught me a few things you know!"

Snape's mouth twitched and Harry visibly relaxed as some of the tension left the man's shoulders. "We shall see.''

Harry nodded and put the books away safely until the end of the lesson. He then sat down at Snape's command and waited patiently for further instruction. Snape laid his wand carefully on the table beside them and paused for a moment in thought.

''Now, Potter,'' he murmured finally as he took the seat opposite the Gryffindor. ''I presume you learnt at least something of relevant significance from your Defence Against The Dark Arts teacher last year, impostor or not...''

Over the next hour they went over basic Defence Against The Dark Arts, Snape's lecture turning more into conversation as he became quickly aware of just how much Harry knew on the subject. His quick fired questions at the boy were answered to his satisfaction, without a great amount of hesitation.

Harry had not achieved his high grades for nothing it seemed, though there were wide, dangerous gaps in his knowledge, and in his skill, that needed filling and others which needed intensifying if it were to be beneficial enough to take effect against Voldemort.

Harry did, Snape was rapidly forced to admit, seem wiser on the subject and more naturally capable than many of the other students his age, certainly some of his Slytherin's, despite his shocking performance on his first task.

Though Harry's limited knowledge, being no fault of his own, reminded him once again that he was only a teenager and his magic was still far from fully developed. They had a lot of work to do. The foundations however, were solidly there and Snape could not decide yet whether this more pleased or irritated him.

He chose next to try something a little more practical. He pointed out to Harry a few more books he thought would be appropriate, now that he knew more about his theoretical capabilities, and gave him permission to read them if he so wished. To his surprise, Harry seemed more than keen, and took a couple of the more interesting versions off the shelves to take away, the first sign of willing partition to this agreement this summer.

Harry collected the books into his arms and set them down with the others, feeling the first small measure of motivation. He was good at Defence Against The Dark Arts; he could do it naturally unlike occlumency and damn potions, and if he wasn't very much mistaken Snape now acknowledged this too.

He hadn't missed the potion master's less than subtle attempts to catch him out, but Lupin had taught him well and he was adequately prepared for the man's intense testing. So he took the books with something akin to enthusiasm, not having had the chance to read such ancient literature before. They intrigued him, along with the ability to surprise Severus Snape into reluctant recognition.

Snape watched Harry with narrowed eyes, pointedly ignoring all of these signs of the boy's attempt at showing some maturity and dedication towards his training. He stood up sharply and drew his wand, running it along his palm with an almost tender expression. He now had every intention of finding out truly what Harry Potter was capable of. Duelling should be right up his street with his reflexes.

The potions master couldn't find it in him to hope that Harry would fare better in this lesson than the previous task. Snape was yet to be convinced the boy was anything particularly special. So what if he was above average in one subject area?

Snape's lip curled in defiance of what his mind was telling him with regard to Harry's intelligence. He was adamant that Dumbledore would be very disappointed indeed when he learnt that his precious saviour was not all that he believed him to be. Snape found some immense satisfaction in that thought, and would delight in being the one to break the news to the headmaster, his strong opinion on the boy having been so blatantly ignored in the past.

He could finally prove that in one way, if not all, that he'd been right about Harry's inadequacy all along. He would not be denied it.

"Tell me, Potter," Snape murmured, running his wand through his long, chalk white fingers. Harry's eyes widened as the wand moved to point directly at his face. "What do you know of duelling?"

"It's…It's when witches or wizards fight…" Harry said, still eyeing the wand cautiously. He wouldn't put it past his professor to blow him to smithereens if he said the wrong thing. He'd been on the receiving end of one of Snape's curses already today, he wasn't keen to experience another so soon. ''With magic...'' he finished lamely. It sounded poor even to his own ears.

"Very, insightful, Potter," Snape said sarcastically, refraining from rolling his eyes. "A true textbook definition, congratulations."

He lowered his wand, to Harry's immense relief, and moved them into the middle of the room onto the wooden area of the floor. Harry eyed, with curiosity, the lines and patterns that he'd noticed earlier, and looked up in expectation as Snape began to explain to him their significance, including all the finer points of professional duelling.

Harry drew his own wand as he listened but his attention quickly strayed. His eyes moved away from Snape's pale face, onto on object, situated just to the left of the man's head. His heart began to pound wildly in his chest as he read the name on the cover of a particularly ancient book.

Snape deliberately waited until he'd finished his explanation until reprimanding his pupil. If the boy thought he was above his teaching, he'd pay the consequences.

"Potter? Potter!" he snapped suddenly as his lecture drew to a close, "have you been confounded you dim-witted fool?" He struck Harry with a moderate stinging curse, making him jump up and yell in pain and surprise.

"Ah, welcome back,'' he said, a cruel smile curving his lips to let Harry know exactly what he was in for, ''care to tell me where you've been for the past five minutes?"

"Wha- Oh…Professor…is that…is that _Quidditch through the centuries_?" Harry asked with an awe struck expression, coming out of his daze, apparently oblivious to the danger he was in.

Snape followed Harry's disbelieving eyes and pointing finger to a shelf just above his own head.

"Indeed," he answered reluctantly. The boy was so predictable. He should have hidden it.

"I thought…Sir, that's so _rare_! Ron said there were only five copies ever made and they were only ever published in Russia or something," Harry breathed, trying in vain to control his excitement.

Who would ever have thought that _Snape_ would have a copy of the rare book? He and Ron had spent many memorable occasions, over the previous year, searching the castle for the text and coming up with crazy ideas as to where one of the famous copies could be, and what witches and wizards over the world had them. Hermione had first told them, in passing conversation, unaware at the time as to the havoc it would cause, that there was any such book ...

And now there it was. Harry had found one and it was in arms reach.

"That is correct," Snape replied, watching Harry's face alight with excitement and pure awe, that made him look ridiculously young. ''If there's any suspicious puddles to be appearing on my floor in the next few minutes, Potter, I suggest that you warn me now,'' he sneered, though there was a definite amused glint in his eyes.

Harry couldn't even find the will to scowl at Snape. His eyes were glued to the book as though it would disappear if he dared look away. Maybe he was being childish but he didn't care. Quidditch was one of his passions, something close to his heart and he'd longed to read this book, along with half of the wizzarding world he suspected, for quite some time.

This book could quite possibly be his salvation this summer. God knows he needed a distraction.

''I didn't know you liked Quidditch, sir,'' Harry said after a sudden, hilarious thought. He held back a grin and eyed his Professor with curiosity. The idea of Snape on a broomstick, attempting to play the game was hysterical.

Snape didn't miss Harry's slight snigger and his lip curled unpleasantly, a faint flush appearing on his sallow cheeks. ''I _despise _Quidditch, Potter,'' he snarled, ''only glory hungry fools such as yourself would consider it a worthy sport. Something you inherited from your father of course.''

Harry's eyes flew back to Snape and this time he did scowl. The man was back to categorising him with his father again. It was relentless. He was obsessed. ''Yes, I know,'' Harry muttered irritably, ''but why do _you_ have a book on Quidditch if you don't even-''

''I have many books I do not much care for, Potter,'' Snape replied impatiently, ''not that it has the slightest thing to do with you. Now back to the lesson...''

"I have Quidditch through the _ages_," Harry rushed on, looking up at his professor and forgetting for a moment the hostility between them in his enthusiasm about the book, "you confiscated it off me in first year remember? I went to get it back and that's where I saw you with your leg cut-"

"Potter this better be going somewhere-" Snape warned, already bored.

"Yes, sir," Harry said quickly but on reading the look on Snape's face, he hesitated, losing confidence, "but it…well, it doesn't matter really…"

Harry dropped his eyes and looked at his feet, remembering very suddenly where he was and who it was he was talking to.

Snape rolled his eyes. He knew exactly what Harry wanted to ask. "What have I told you? If you want to know something-"

"Can I read it?' Harry burst, all caution thrown to the wind. What was the worst that could happen? "_Please._ I'd do anything."

There was a pause in which Snape regarded him with first surprise, and then curiosity. He hadn't known the boy was _that _honestly taken with the game. He'd assumed he'd appreciated the sport as a resource by which to feed his hunger for popularity and further fame. The boy had moderate talent, but surely Quidditch, nor the book could mean that much to him?

"Anything?" Snape raised an eyebrow.

Harry swallowed.

"Never offer promises you can't fulfil, Potter. There are people in this world who would hold you to them,'' Snape warned with a small smirk at Harry's worried expression. ''Relax, Potter. I am not going to propose anything proposterous.''

He ran a finger across his own bottom lip, eyeing Harry with narrowed eyes. He thought carefully about Harry's question and had to admit he could see how this unexpected situation could be used to his advantage. If the book would give the boy an incentive to work harder, he'd gladly offer it up as a reward. He'd no personal attachment to it and money had never really been much of an appeal to him.

Whether or not he'd actually let the book up on Harry's achievements was another matter. He seriously doubted though whether the boy would even make it to the end of the week, let alone the summer which would conveniently take any such decision conveniently out of his hands anyhow.

''Do well in this first lesson and read those books there and I may consider it," Snape said slowly, having a feeling he may regret it regardless of the outcome.

Obvious shock and then delight registered on Harry's face and Snape internally rolled his eyes again at his lack of control over expressing his emotions.

Though he couldn't help but let his eyes linger on Harry's face longer than he usually would have done. The boy looked so different when he actually smiled, something he rarely did in his presence. It made him look younger and more carefree than the Harry he knew and he felt a sudden rush of...something.

Snape frowned and for one, insane moment he felt like he did not know the boy at all. It was a mad thought and he quickly brushed it aside. Of course he knew Harry. He'd known his father, so therefore he knew him. He'd never questioned it before and couldn't afford to start now.

But did he really make the boy _that_ miserable? If so, why did the blasted Gryffindor stand for it? Surely he could have had his damn godfather blasting the door down and taking him away down if he wanted. There was nothing physically keeping him here, they both knew that.

"It's translated?" Harry asked, his eyes threatening to pop out of his head. He couldn't believe he was actually happy in Snape's presence.

"It is," Snape answered, convincing himself that he was doing this for his own selfish means and not for the boy. But it certainly was most curious to see boy so carefree and actually content with something _he_ had said... He repressed the feeling with disgust.

"But," he held up a warning finger, determined to increase this deal even more in his own favour, "you must read those…" He pointed at the pile of books on the chair, "_first _and comprehend them to my satisfaction.''

Harry nodded, vowing to stay up all night and read them if he had to. He would have hugged the person who'd given him this blessing were it anyone but Snape.

"So, duelling sir…?" he said distractedly, eyes wandering back to the book.

Snape gave would could have been passed as a growl before he snapped his wand so fast Harry barely saw him move. Black steel shutters clattered to life and rolled down over the books, effectively covering them from sight. Harry knew that he was now going to pay for his lapse in concentration earlier.

"Yes, Potter that is what I said," Snape shouted, now finally gaining Harry's full attention and intending to keep it, "and seeing as I have just explained to you everything you need to know in order to duel efficiently and seeing as you were listening so…_attentively_ we shall now begin," he bowed shortly to Harry who had very quickly adopted a panicked expression.

Before he could utter a single objection however, he saw Snape raise his wand and dived out of the way of yet another stinging hex, using all the speed and flexibility he had naturally and that he'd developed as a seeker in order to save himself from the attack.

His eyes shot down in shock to the pain that had erupted on his arm, hardly able to believe that Snape had actually cursed him. His arm was red and blistering where the spell had burnt him, taking away all the tiny hairs. Harry caught Snape's eye and the man smirked wickedly and raised an eyebrow.

Harry gulped. Snape wasn't going to hold back.

Before Harry could so much as say a prayer, Snape had sent another, more powerful, stinging hex his way. He felt the pain on his arm intensify and, with a string of swear words, he scrambled to his feet.

Snape didn't stop there, he hurled hexes, jinxes and curses mercilessly at Harry in quick succession, barely giving his time to think or react, which Harry knew was exactly the point. His spells, most of which Harry was unfamiliar with, bounced off the various items strewn around the room, which had obviously been protected.

It took Harry some time to get his bearings and then he was directing hexes of his own. He himself was hit numerous times, whereas not one of his spells met their target. He knew Snape must be enjoying this immensely, an excuse to kill him and make it look like an accident…

Even in Harry's own obvious lack of experience he could tell the potions master was a fine dueller; he didn't seem to stop for breath as he thought on his feet, cloak swirling, as he moved round like an overgrown bat. Harry could almost have admitted that he was slightly in awe of his potions master in this moment. He was so graceful...so focused.

A curse hit Harry squarely in the chest and he doubled over, heaving. He groaned loudly and dismissed any further compliments that he'd associated with the man. He was a bastard.

''Up you get, Potter. It didn't hurt that much.'' Snape appeared at his side, smirking down at him with something that could only be described as satisfaction. A boot was pressed to his stomach and Harry's groan intensified, as did the pain.

Harry tried to push him off but Snape only pressed down harder, so much so that Harry had trouble breathing.

''You must be faster,'' Snape informed him, almost casually, as though he weren't pinning Harry to the floor with his weight, ''aim at _me_, Potter. Not the walls.''

Harry growled and struggled to his feet, effectively dislodging Snape's foot. He held out his wand and pointed it at the man but somehow this seemed to unbalance him. His shaking legs crumbled beneath him and he was on the floor once more.

Snape raised an eyebrow and Harry thought it looked like the man was holding in a laugh. Impossible. ''Perhaps a break?'' Snape suggested and disapeared from Harry's line of sight.

Harry forced himself, more carefully this time, into a standing position and slumped down in the nearest chair, dripping in sweat and panting. He felt like he'd been in a damn war zone with the aches and stings that seemed to cover his entire body.

Once he had his breath back, he transfigured a cushion into a glass and croaked, "Argumenti," procuring himself some water, so damn thirsty Snape could yell at him until the cows came home for touching his things and he wouldn't care.

He glanced over at his mentor who, infuriatingly, looked no worse for wear. There were a few scorch marks in the hems of his robes, which he quickly repaired, and his face was a little redder than usual but you'd think that he'd done nothing more than gone for a brisk jog.

Harry didn't need Snape's negative comments to know he hadn't done well.

"Not the best first attempt I have ever witnessed from one so inexperienced, Potter,'' he said critically, "your spells were constantly misplaced. You were firing them at high speed but your body was unable to keep up. They must be one. I suggest you slow it down until you can match speed with accuracy."

"But you were going so fast!" Harry argued, "how was I to keep up when I could hardly think about anything but dodging your spells?"

"You expect the Dark Lord to slow down for your sake for I can assure you he will not-"

"I know! I'm not saying he would but I can't keep up with _you_ at the moment! Couldn't we slow it down? Just for now? Just until I learn a little more, so that I can be more aware of what I am doing?"

"Very well, if you feel you will learn better this way," Snape consented reluctantly. As with anything Harry said, he didn't want to be instantly agreeable but this did seem to make sense. He'd never thought the boy capable of making a sensible suggestion.

Harry looked grateful but his face contorted in pain a moment later and he clutched a stitch in his side.

"I would have thought your stamina slightly more inept as you are a seeker are you not?" Snape frowned, "does that not require a certain amount of fitness?"

Harry looked up at him with an incredulous expression. "Slightly different being sat on a broom to…to _that!"_ he motioned to the area where they'd been duelling.

Snape smirked. "Practice will make perfect, Potter. Perhaps I should also set up an exercise program for you?"

Harry glared at him but took the point. He would get himself fit.

They practiced for the next three hours, taking a break with each hour, before stopping for lunch. Harry was improving before their very eyes. He was beginning to anticipate Snape's moves more and more and, although he could not yet hit his opponent, there had been a few close shaves.

Snape was forced, however reluctantly, to accept that Harry had potential to become a fine dueller when he put his mind to it. He had the natural movement and co-ordination that took most people years to prefect. Practice could indeed make perfect in this case.

"Your speed is becoming acceptable," Snape complimented lightly as he summoned a table and chairs. Despite himself, Snape had quite enjoyed their duelling. The boy was not a bad opponent, even in his inexperience and it had been a while since he'd had the chance to duel. The oppertunity to curse Harry had just been a bonus.

The room had provided appropriate nourishment at Snape's command, much to Harry's gratification. He sat down immediately and looked up at Snape, a question on his face.

Snape nodded shortly and the boy made a small, appreciative sound in the back of his throat, and began eating. Snape's lip curled in discomfort and he sat down opposite Harry, resisting the urge to leave and break for a while on his own.

He was confined to this space until the lesson was over. He knew that if he left now, he'd be far more reluctant to return. This...more personal setting was far less to his liking than that where he and the boy were clearly in a situation that defined them as student-teacher.

Here, it was much harder to set boundaries and keep Harry, and all his harmless attempts at making conversation, at a distance.

He watched Harry covertly as he ate, while touching nothing himself. He never did have much of an apetite, and it was even less so in Harry's company.

"Your accuracy is improving,'' he said eventually, as the boy looked as though he were about to say something, and rather than deter any awkward questions about his house and the like, he steered the conversation to where he felt more comfortable.

''Those books I gave you…you will find more spells in there, some not taught at Hogwarts, but useful regardless. I suggest that you practice a few to determine whether or not they are to your liking.'' He knew the boy needed the encouragement and gave it to him on this rare occasion. He doubted he'd find need to repeat any such thing again.

Harry nodded mouth full of food, pleased that Snape had acknowledged that he wasn't completely hopeless and was offering him useful advice for once. He'd found that the man was full of it. It was a shame his mouth was usually used to spew quite the opposite.

Harry knew that if he was to stand a chance against Voldemort, he needed to get a hell of a lot better at this; if he couldn't even hit Snape what chance did he stand against the most feared wizard in the world? But duelling at least was something he felt he could improve on, unlike occlumency which he was dreading with every bone in his body. He refused to think about it and concentrated instead about what he was left to face today.

"What are we doing after lunch? More duelling?" Harry asked between mouthfuls. He was ravenous. He was quietly hoping that duelling was over for the day as he was sore and aching all over, not that he'd give Snape the satisfaction of complaining about it.

Snape smirked slightly, not needing to use occlumency to know Harry's preferences.

"No," he said and the relief showed on his students face. "I have many other things to teach you apart from how to fight."

"What else are you teaching me then?" Harry asked, surprised that he hadn't thought to ask this before. He knew that he would have to tackle occlumency again, at some point, but apart from that he'd envisioned learning spells and advanced magic that he could use to fight Voldemort. He hadn't really considered any specifics.

"Overall, as you are already aware, I hope to exercise you into some sort of presentable state in which to fight the Dark Lord,'' he answered calmly, picking up a bread roll and eyeing it half heartedly as if he were deciding whether or not to eat it.

''And how are you going to do that?'' Harry asked, wiping the corners of his mouth with a napkin. Snape was silent for a moment, as if considering this, then he motioned for Harry to pass the butter, which he did, and remained tight lipped as he prepared his roll.

Harry became more conscious about the informal way in which he had eating, now that most of his hunger had been satisfied, and watched Snape in order to follow in his lead and eat with a little more decorum. He didn't want Snape to think him ill-mannered at the table as well as everything else. ''Did Dumbledore give you a plan?'' he prompted.

''No,'' Snape replied finally. ''He did not give me a plan.''

''Then what?'' Harry asked, getting irritated with Snape's unwillingness to talk to him. Was he really such unbearable company? Perhaps he was expected to sit here in silence like Snape would have preferred.

''I have a schedule of my own,'' Snape said, resigned to conversing with the boy as he ate, as he seemed so determined. He would probably be more co-operative if he had more answers anyhow and it wouldn't hurt to fill him in on some of the details. It would save a lot of explanation later.

''While you are here I may as well brush you up a little on your abysmal potions skills," he explained, "otherwise you may struggle to even pass fifth year at all."

He gave a second to appreciate this insult before continuing. "Also occlumency…Yes, Potter occlumency. This was especially requested by the headmaster, otherwise I would never have suggested it. Although I do agree, it is imperative you learn it with the connection your mind holds with the Dark Lord. However, my place in teaching it to you has yet to be explained properly.''

He raised the roll to his mouth and bit at the corner as Harry watched curiously. He refused to believe that he was fascinated by Snape but, with the more time he spent with him, Harry was further intrigued by the man's ways. There were some deep seated disturbances in the man, that was for sure. He barely ate, he spoke so formally... He wore thick robes at all hours of the day, aside from breakfast.

Even now Harry could tell that he disliked making eye contact with him for any significant length of time...that it disturbed Snape to look at him too closely and have him look back at him, in the eyes, in return.

He would only look at him properly... and give him _that_ look -- the intense one that Harry found so uncomfortable when he was trying to make a point -- or when he was absorbed in his verbal cursing of Harry, and his father.

''Don't look at me like that, Potter,'' Snape said without looking up, his voice much softer than Harry was used to. It was almost resigned. He probably expected Harry was scowling at him and was weary of it. Harry would have argued to the contrary if he'd thought Snape would appreciate it.

''So, what else-'' Harry begun but Snape spoke over him.

''I'll teach you other various things… the headmaster has given me a substantial amount of flexibility. I shall teach you, in short Potter, all that is appropriate...I shall teach you everything that I know.''

Harry nodded again and a sudden thought struck him as everything Snape had sent begun to sink in. 'He'd teach him everything he knew'...

''You really don't want to be doing this do you, sir?'' he said quietly.

Snape gave him a strange look. ''If you have just worked that out, Potter there is something seriously wrong wi-''

"No, of course I knew! It's just…well...You_ really_ don't want to be doing this. I don't want to apologise because it's not my fault…but I know you don't like me...at all, and you've got me stuck here for a whole summer, and I guess that's quite a responsibility isn't it? Having to teach me all this stuff…" he said awkwardly.

He didn't even know why he cared, it just seemed wierd, when he thought about it, and slightly wrong that the man should be put under so much pressure to do something he detested.

"It is my job to teach, Potter," Snape said shortly, obviously having no desire to talk about this.

"Not in the summer."

"No, but this was requested especially by the headmaster. I couldn't very well refuse-"

"Exactly. Can't be nice...And it is your responsibility. If I'm not ready, it will be your faul-''

"It'll be no such thing!" Snape snapped harshly, silencing Harry. "What you learn from me is entirely down to you. I have already informed the headmaster of this. There shall only be _half _the effort on my part.''

''Yes, I know-''

''Don't forget, Potter," Snape added, "it is in my best interests to see the Dark Lord vanquished also, so training the 'chosen one' to do such a thing will eventually…hopefully, if you get your act together, work out to my advantage. I am not a selfless man as you know, Potter. Not all of what I do is done in the name of Albus Dumbledore and the greater good. "

Harry could understand this, even if he didn't like the way he was seen as a tool, a puppet to do the wizzarding worlds bidding. Snape's life was in danger, more than most, every day Voldermort was alive so of course he would want Harry to succeed. Whether he thought it possible was another matter.

''Finish your lunch,'' Snape said curtly, dropping his roll and getting to his feet to prepare the next part of the lesson, leaving Harry to his thoughts. ''There is much more for you to learn, Mr. Potter.''


	8. Routine

---

The rest of the afternoon was dedicated to the practicing of a number of practical spells, chosen by Snape, the hardest of which being the disillusionment charm.

Despite the fact that Harry had an invisibility cloak, of which Snape was totally aware due to the number of time's he'd confiscated it, he still thought it imperative that Harry have some other means of hiding himself.

It was a complicated spell that required a higher level of magic than was generally expected of a teenage wizard. However, Snape was determined to try out on the boy. If by some miracle, it was successful, it would prove a great asset. He'd been surprised once already today by unexpected success, and was curious as to whether Harry could stretch to his expectations once again.

Snape first explained the spell in all its agonizing detail, including all theory and practical elements. All Harry had to do was get his head around the concept, accomplish the spell once, and he shouldn't have trouble doing it again. It was this first push to master the spell that would prove difficult, and Snape was not without his doubts.

Harry found, as expected, that the spell more than challenging. It took everything that he had to offer in order to make progress.

Snape's cynicism did nothing but fuel his determination to make a worthy attempt. If it was possible to achieve, he would do it and put that stupid, pessimistic smirk from the potions master's face.

However, as he became absorbed in his work, Harry was forced, for the second time that day, to forget everything else, and concentrate solely on the task at hand. Snape's involvement in his motivation lessened in importance as Harry was driven by his own desperation to achieve, not merely to prove a point, but to successfully arm himself in preparation for battle. This motivation, of which he'd been so far weary of, was somewhat refreshing, while equally as exhausting.

Both Harry and Snape were getting increasingly snappy before any marked improvement occurred.

''_Concentrate_, Potter.'' Snape's voice broke in whenever Harry's mind began to wander. ''_Think _about what you are doing, do not simply do it.''

''I know. I am. It's just... difficult,'' Harry replied, becoming irritated with the complexity of what he was being asked to do. This was way harder than any classes at Hogwarts and he was only now realising just how difficult this training was going to be.

Snape scowled his disapproval at Harry's incomprehension.

_''Think_,'' he repeated forcefully. ''What I am saying is not difficult. I know it may be an entirely new concept to you but without constant, _focused_ thought, Potter, you are not going to get anywhere. Your mind must be attuned with your body and your entire matter, as a whole, in order for the spell to take effect. Nothing must cross your mind apart from your magic, so forget all else. Forget everything.''

Harry was finding this increasingly difficult with Snape circling him, prodding him with both his hands and words to improve his stance and movement.

''That's it, Potter,'' Snape said quietly, his voice dropping to a low whisper, lined with approval when Harry actually listened to him and followed his instruction. ''Your mind is your own. Take control of it.''

Harry could finally make himself blend in with his surroundings, to his teacher's satisfaction, after an hour and a half of intense practicing, theory work and exceptional patience on both their parts.

''Congratulations, Mr. Potter,'' Snape said tonelessly, deliberately ensuring that none of his own gratification and sense of success were too vividly portrayed. It would not do for the boy to get ahead of himself.

He smothered the shock that was momentarily displayed on his face at Harry's speed of mastering the spell. He stared at the boy searchingly. Harry had shown both determination and exceptional skill during their lesson, something Snape had never before witnissed in such a fashion.

He couldn't deny the satisfaction it brought him at seeing the boy accomplish the task after such an arduous training session. The very strong part of him that wanted failure, as quickly as possible, had become less dominant as the lesson wore on, and Harry's true potential became apparent.

Snape was a teacher after all, and to educate any student, especially Harry, did not come without its sense of accomplishment.

''I believe, for the first time since our meeting, I have managed to teach you something,'' he added, uncomfortable with giving praise without adding a snide comment to even it out.

''Yes, sir,'' Harry agreed, sweating with exertion. ''Thank you.''

Snape inclined his head in acceptance, his expression remaining curious.

He was forced to fully acknowledge now that Harry wasn't as entirely hopeless as he'd always been branded. With this uncomfortable realisation, Snape's motivation to teach was increased limitlessly. He had actually found some rare contentment in the role he dispised.

For once, he did not feel as though he was wasting his time with his teaching. It hadn't been a constant frustration, which was not an entirely unpleasant thing to discover, as much as he'd been opposed to the idea of progresss with Harry.

Without first realising it, he'd fallen into an instructer, with Harry's co-operation, and not felt the need to bark insults every five seconds. The benefits were staring him in the face. It would have felt inappropriate and unnecessary to have behaved so characteristically unprofessional with both of them working together so intensely. It was not something Snape had experienced with this particular student before.

''I did well then?'' Harry asked, not out of arrogance but curiosity. ''I've never done something that hard before. I wasn't sure if I was going to be...you know, experienced enough for that kind of magic.''

''You certainly...exceeded my expectations. That is a most difficult spell to grasp,'' Snape admitted, giving in to a rare desire to let Harry know he'd done well, for indeed he had.

For some reason, this short declaration made Harry smile wider.

Elated by his new achievement, Harry basked in the glory of impressing Severus Snape. He hadn't missed the shock, and brief admiration, on Snape's face as the spell finally took effect. It was a strange sight, for he had never seen such a look from the sour man directed at anyone other than Draco Malfoy, and even then the light never really reached his eyes.

It brought Harry an odd sense of satisfaction to prove to Snape what he could do, if just given a chance. There was a sudden, unexpected longing in Harry to be the cause of it again. To impress Snape was something else, for the man only ever gave praise when it was truly deserved.

''Do not get carried away,'' Snape frowned, as he watched a mix of emotions cross his student's face. He could not allow triumph to dominate Harry's mood, for it would only slow future progress. They still had a lot to cover, and the arrogance he associated strongly with Harry would only interfere with his work.

''This is the mere beginning. There is still much to learn. You may not be so lucky on your next attempts.''

''Lucky?'' Harry repeated, knowing, in truth, that Snape gave the term as little credit as he did. It only irritated him further that the man couldn't admit it to him.

Harry sighed and refrained from rolling his eyes with some effort, but he knew it would take much more to win Snape over completely, and really make the man sing.

''Can you see now what it is possible to achieve, if you apply your mind to the task and not simply wander your way through it?'' Snape said sternly, ignoring Harry's comment. ''To _concentrate_, Potter, is to achieve. I want you to take this from this lesson and apply it to all others, or I shall be disappointed.''

Harry nodded, accepting the implied. Snape had raised the bar in his expectations of him. He was only too willing to try harder in order to meet these demands if it meant Snape would be less critical all the time. Snape wasn't denying his achievement at all. Not really. He was blatantly trying to, but his true feelings came out through his words.

Harry would just have to listen to what he was saying much more carefully. Impressing Snape could get addictive. It was not like impressing anyone else.

It was only when Harry realised that Snape was talking to a point just above his right shoulder, that he remembered he was still invisible.

With a swish of his cloak, Snape ended their afternoon lesson.

''Uh…professor?'' Harry called as Snape began to walk away at top speed. ''How do I make myself visible again?''

Snape turned back, clearly amused, admittedly at Harry's expense, but there was an important lesson behind this. ''You should have thought of that before, Potter. Did you ask me what the counter spell was before we began? No, you did not.''

''What? How is that fair? You should have told me! You're the teacher,'' Harry cried indignantly but Snape seemed uninterested in what he had to say.

''Calm down, Potter,'' he said, quietly enjoying himself, ''the fault is entirely your own. You _shall_ learn the importance of preparation.''

Another one of Snape's little lessons in a lesson, Harry was too late to realise.

''The effects will ware off in an hour or so…'' he continued calmly, a small smirk tilting his lips. ''I doubt your spell will be strong enough to last much longer than that. Besides, I think this is a major improvement to your appearance, don't you?''

Without another word, Snape left to do whatever it was he did when he wasn't teaching. Harry could only wonder.

Harry sighed to himself and shook his head. Just when he thought Snape was becoming just about bearable, in teaching mode if not at any other time, the man had to go and remind him just how much of an arse he really was.

Harry had to admit Snape wasn't really a bad teacher. He was perhaps a little extreme on occasion in his methods, and totally unsympathetic, but Harry doubted whether anyone else could have made him progress as fast. Harry certainly didn't enjoy the lessons, though he was beginning to appreciate them.

He could also value the way Snape was not afraid to push him as far as he could go, if not further, in their intensive training sessions. Whether his approach was ethical, however, was another matter.

It seemed he still had a lot to learn about Snape and how his twisted mind worked. There were aspects of his thorny personality that were only just becoming apparent to Harry. Snape seemed to just revel in his misfortune; it was if he didn't even want him or expect him to succeed at anything.

Even when Harry did exceed at something unexpected, it was hard for him to read Snape's whole reaction, to know what exactly he was really thinking after the initial surprise. Why it had to be some big secret, Harry had no idea.

The lack of appreciation did nothing for Harry's self-esteem and moral, though Snape had made it perfectly clear, when he'd first arrived, that neither of these things mattered to him in the slightest. Harry certainly wasn't expecting this to change any time soon, but he was actually learning and that was, after all, all that was important.

Harry made his way slowly back up to his room, which, without being able to make out his own feet, was proving to be an interesting experience. Feeling slightly nauseous, he forced himself not to look down as he climbed the never ending staircase.

He was grateful to arrive at his room and immediately made a start on the books Snape had given him, in order to distract himself from his invisibility. There were at least a dozen autobiographies of famous witches and wizards along with: '_Ridiculously Advanced Defence Against The Dark Arts For The Hunted Witch Or Wizard_,' '_1000 Curses For An Enemy_ ,' '_Occlumency For The Dim Minded_,'…The list went on.

Harry sighed. If he ever wanted to get through all of these before the end of the summer, he had a lot of work to do. He was willing to bet Snape wouldn't take any less than one hundred percent, perfect analysis of every sentence, which Harry found as he read the first page of, '_Dangers You Know Not_,' were extremely complex.

For the next few hours, Harry simply read, as Hedwig flew in and out of the open window, nipping his finger affectionately each time she returned, as if she too felt his pain and was trying to offer him some sort of comfort.

The books were not as dull as Harry might have imagined it to be, when he got past all that technical waffle. In fact, it did not take him long to be deeply absorbed within their pages. Snape had been right; he could learn a lot from these.

Harry glanced up every now and then into the huge mirror that stood parallel to his bed, but all that was reflected back at him was a bed full of books and not a lot else. His disillusionment charm had obviously been much stronger than Snape had given him credit for.

He eventually set his book to the side and flicked through the others, looking for a counter curse. He eventually found one that would give him his body back.

Harry concentrated so hard on the spell, that he didn't notice Snape knock sharply on his bedroom door and enter without waiting for a response. Instantly noticing the floating wand, the professor was momentarily confused, and then surprised. Harry should have reappeared hours ago.

He cast a quick charm, covering the troublesome boy in a slight silver light so he could make him out.

Snape's lips tilted slightly in amusement when he realised what Harry was attempting to do. He folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the doorframe, watching the boy on his bed, his eyes screwed shut, a small bead of sweat dripping down his temple as he focused all his might on the spell.

Just when he was getting bored of Harry's futile attempts, and was about to make his presence known, there was a small sizzling sound and Harry reappeared, same as ever, sitting on the bed and looking stunned at what he'd done, but incredibly pleased with himself.

Snape's mouth would have dropped open if he didn't have such a firm hold over his emotions.

Instead, he brought his hands together twice in a stiff manner. Harry spun round, smiling wider at his audience. If Snape hadn't witnessed him do it, he never would have believed it.

''Well…'' Harry, grinned ear to ear, sure now that he'd have earnt a small amount of respect. ''That was good, wasn't it?''

Snape's eyes glinted, forever evading Harry. He opened his mouth to respond, and agree that indeed it was, very good, but his vocal cords seemed inable to comply with his first reaction.

''Dinner is in ten minutes,'' he informed carelessly, as if Harry had done no more than transfigure a teacup and not demonstrated some highly skillful magic without assiatance.

Harry watched Snape leave, the smile leaving his face as if it had been wiped off. He scowled and pushed the books angrily off his bed, hating himself for caring so much for the man's recognition. He never had before, why did he have to start now?

Snape looked back at the closed door, as he shut it firmly behind him. He shook his head, a small, curious frown creasing his forehead. Not mediocre at all, he thought, accepting that just maybe there was a considerable amount more to Harry Potter than he'd previously given him credit for.

He tilted his head to the side, his expression deepening into pensieveness. It was most curious. Harry Potter... He would have to consider the boy more carefully, and see just what could be made of this training...

''Just keep going like that, Mr. Potter, '' Snape murmured to himself, staring at the closed bedroom door that separated him from the frustrated teen, ''...and you'll have me converted yet.''

Confident he was however that he wouldn't be joining the Harry Potter fan club any time soon.

Snape turned sharply on his heel and descended the staircase, losing himself in thought as he allowed this new, revealing information to stew in his mind. It was as if he needed to convince himself how much he hated the boy, in order to counteract any such positive feelings.

The day in Harry's company had definitely disconcerted Snape. He'd never before spent such an amount of time in the boy's company, and, even though now he was fighting a migraine, it had not been an entirely loathsome experience.

Harry seemed to have adopted an uncharacteristic, complient attitude that Snape did not yet understand and was predictably suspicous of. He'd expected Harry to have been as difficult as possible, merely to spite him, but that had not been the case.

Things between them were prickly at best but at least, when in teacher student mode, they both knew where they stood, and could, with practice, work in relative comfort. Snape knew Harry was far from settled in the Manor, especially with his own presence, but he'd adapted to the classes fairly well.

Though it would mean some considerable sacrifices on his part, Snape knew he'd have to behave in a less hostile manner if he wanted Harry to remain successful. As much as he enjoyed it, constant unnecessary insults and provoked arguments would only cause setbacks. Now that he knew that that there was substance to be worked with, he was keen to do so.

Fully accepting, once and for all, that there was definitely skill hidden within the depths of the boy, having concealed themselves from him from the previous four years, would not be easy for Snape. He'd convinced himself for far too long that Harry's little escapades had been successful due only to pure chance, mere luck, to give in easily to what his mind was trying to tell him.

And though he found Harry unbearably predictable, reckless, imprecise, thoughtless, inattentive...all qualities that Snape despised, he found himself able to _teach_ the boy with relative ease; he was passionate and becoming more eager to learn with each session.

Snape had his fears, however, which included Harry's hot head overwhelming the level headed person he was determined to drag out from where it was smothered, somewhere beneath thick layers of relentless stupidity.

* * *

The rest of the week followed a similar pattern, of which both Snape and Harry grew slowly adjusted to. In the morning, teacher and student would duel mercilessly, some of the tension between then being released, though certainly not dissipated.

They relentlessly practiced spells, defensive magic and the kind. Harry was learnt more in a day here at Snape Manor than he would during a whole term at Hogwarts, at least that's how it felt.

All work and no play, however, wasn't exactly Harry's idea of fun. Snape did nothing to make his stay at all pleasurable. He cared not for Harry's comfort, only for his education, which Harry could now at least appreciate as the man was treating him with marginally more respect in the classroom.

But that didn't change the blatantly obvious way in which Snape despised him. It was in his eyes. All the time. It was in the way he practically ran from the room at the end of a lesson and ignored him at mealtimes.

It was in the way he flinced if Harry inadvertedly touched him or referred to anything even remotely personal.

It was in every word he said to the boy, lining every syllable.

Yet Snape seemed to be holding himself from being openly, overly cruel, and Harry, in turn, did his best not to upset the man. However, Snape resented his very presence and there was very little he could do about that, except stay out of his way as much as possible.

Snape's own efforts did, however, make Harry less quick to fire up and yell at the unfairness of it all. He knew Snape appreciated this discipline and, if it would reduce the amount of times the man lost it with him, Harry would gladly make his own life easier by being a little more obedient than was normal.

Snape's cold, insufferable mask was forever fixed in place. He preferred to keep his opinions on Harry's surprising progression to himself, and made no comments on his feelings to Harry personally. His least favourite student had outlasted any of his predictions. He'd been relentlessly preaching the boy's mediocre skills since day one. It wouldn't do to express any sort of regret just yet.

He was forced to second guess himself on more than one occasion where Harry was concerned, as he found himself unsure of boy's reaction to certain things, whether it be a matter completely trivial or that of great importance.

He felt as though the carpet had been pulled out from under his feet, as each and every assumption he'd made about the boy was questioned in turn. It seemed he did not know him at all.

Snape did not enjoy this uncertainty in the slightest, though he'd no desire to delve any deeper into the boy that was Harry Potter, to find out any further mistakes he may have made. He would not go down that road. He would concentrate on his academic achievement, and that alone.

He would fight to keep his original view of Harry every step of the way, or at least ignore his preference for the new Harry, to who he felt he'd only just been introduced.

Snape was quite content with hating Harry and deeply resented having the boy in his home, all of which he found near impossible not to make Harry only too aware of.

All the time he was not teaching Harry or having a meal, he kept as much distance between them as possible. He allowed no social time between them, not that Harry showed any inclination to want company, not when his teacher's was the only available.

Snape would not let himself acknowledge the misery in which the boy was positively drowning in. He pushed it from his mind and ignored it. It wasn't hard. He was more than occupied with his own bitterness at the current situation. No amount of amazing magical skill on Harry's part could ever change that.


	9. Grimauld Place

---

Harry had barely stepped out of the shower on his seventh morning at Snape Manor, marking the first week of his training, when he heard Snape calling his name in a very irritated, impatient manner from down the hall.

He sighed in frustration and cursed the man's timing. He padded back into his bedroom and raked his eyes over the pile of clothes that was mounted over a chair in the corner of his room, and quickly pulled on the least worn t-shirt he could find.

The rough cotton stuck to Harry's wet skin, crumpling and twisting against the curves of his torso, but he gave no time to his appearance. Snape wasn't known for his patience. Harry stepped into his boxers as Snape's voice grew more menacing, and had to accept that this was as far as he was going to get.

He followed the sound of Snape's voice hurriedly, uncomfortable, and feeling very exposed in just his boxers and t-shirt.

''There you are, Potter. What took you so long?'' Snape appeared from the gloom of the hallway, startling Harry slightly. ''Prepare yourself, we are leaving in ten minutes.'' He allowed a moment to take in Harry's half-dressed appearance and gave a sneer.

''Are you a tramp, Potter?'' he asked coldly, disgust etched into his every syllable. ''This is not your home, nor will it ever be, so please refrain from such _nakedness_ in my presence.''

Harry didn't even bother answering back, he merely screamed 'unfair' with his eyes until Snape dropped his hostile glare and turned on his heel. He knew this particular rebuke was more to do with Snape's obvious temper than anything he'd actually done wrong, but it didn't make it any less unreasonable.

''Put on something appropriate,'' Snape called over his shoulder as he stalked back towards his own private rooms, muttering something further about eyesores and gangly teens.

Harry rolled his eyes at his retreating back and called after him, ''But where are we going?''

''_Out._'' Snape slammed his bedroom door behind him with a sharp snap.

Harry winced before shaking his head Snape's dramatics and wandering back to his own room, arms crossed across his chest. He began shivering more violently with each second that his naked skin was exposed to the cold, damp air that seemed to permanently occupy this house.

He closed his bedroom door behind him with a grateful sigh and rekindled the pathetic heap of ashes that were the only remains of what had been a roaring fire the previous night.

He finished dressing, mind racing with all the possibilities of what could have got Snape so tight arsed, and where it was they could be going. Snape hadn't mentioned any sort of day trip... Harry didn't hang about. He was dressed and downstairs waiting two minutes later, excited despite himself. Whatever 'Out' entailed it had to be better than staying confined to the Manor.

Snape appeared moments later, pulling on his cloak as he stepped past Harry and flung open the front door.

''Snape, _where are we going_?'' Harry asked, jogging after the man as he strode purposely down the driveway of his mansion. ''If you don't tell me, I'll-''

''You'll _what_?'' Snape spun round, eyes blazing. When Harry gulped and took a step back, without an answer, his anger was only fuelled further. ''What have I told you about making idle threats, Potter?''

''Sorry,'' Harry gasped as spit sprayed over his face. ''I didn't...I just...'' His alarm quickly turned to defiance, however, as he realised how pathetic he sounded.

Why did Snape always have to make him look a fool? No one else could make him this tongue-tied. But still, Snape hadn't spoken to him with this much ferocity, for little reason, in a while now…Harry had no idea what he could have done wrong. He'd been trying so hard not to unintentionally aggravate the man.

Snape sneered unpleasantly, turning sharply and continuing at a pace he knew that his student would find hard to match.

''Today, you and I Mr. Potter are visiting the residence of your dearest godfather,'' he answered finally, as Harry's sulky expression became almost over bearing.

He looked away as Harry's face turned from one of miserable confusion, to one full of simple and pure delight in a moment. He increased his pace further and Harry was forced to break into a run in order not to fall behind.

The wind wipped at Snape's face and the boy's footsteps were loud behind him, and unwillingly, the voice of reason began to break through his anger. He found himself forced, in a moment of weakness, to be honest with himself.

Harry didn't deserve his harsh treatment this morning. In fact the boy had been surprisingly pleasant, for Potter, over the past few days.

As much as this had irritated Snape, it did make his job a hell of a lot easier, and he disliked being the one to bring such open animosity back out into the open. It was a rather brutal reminder of the dark past that lay behind their relationship, that would forever linger in order to rear its ugly head and make any length of time they spent together, regardless of changing opinions, almost unbearable.

Though however unfair it may be to the boy, the unexpected call for the Order meeting had reminded him once again, rather sharply, about who Harry was and where he came from. The boy may be proving that he had a little more talent than he'd first imagined, but he was still the nasty little child of a fool. He wanted no discussion over that fact. He refused to see otherwise. That poor excuse for a man, Black, had reminded him of this none too pleasantly this morning, when his ugly mug had appeared in the fire.

Snape hissed under his breath. The last thing he wanted to be doing was spending time in that man's company, when Harry had spent the last week with him in obvious discomfort. Black was sure to make it hell for him, more so than usual.

His blood boiled at the thought of that man and his anger was projected onto Harry, as it always had. He was his only outlet for the fury he felt towards Sirius and James for once making his life hell. Maybe he was being harsh but Snape didn't care. Not right now. He was too pissed off to care.

''Grimauld Place?'' Harry asked in disbelief and obvious excitement, ''we're going to see Sirius?!''

Snape eyed him sideways, through hard eyes, and gave a disgusted sneer at the joy on the boy's face. He could not understand how anyone could associate Sirius Black with a pleasant feeling. No, he wanted to wipe the light from Harry's face. It sickened him.

''Unless he has any other property I am unaware of. A dog kennel perhaps?'' he drawled, to Harry's less than amusement, but the boy tightened his lips, well practised at holding his anger back from Snape now.

At least now he knew why Snape was in such a foul mood. He hated Sirius and was obviously much less keen on going than he was. Harry kept his mouth tightly closed. He didn't want to be punished and kept housebound and therefore miss this chance to see his godfather. He wanted to see Sirius desperately. More than anything. He hadn't realised just how much until now. It felt like forever since he'd spoken to another person apart from Snape.

''Albus decided an emergency Order meeting was absolutely necessary,'' Snape continued, more to distract himself from his dark thoughts than to fill Harry's curiosity. ''None could be spared, not even I, burdened as I am with you.''

''Has something happened?'' Harry asked, feeling the smile drop from his face. ''Is someone hurt?''

Snape shot him a glare, the one that told Harry he'd said something stupid. Again.

''How can you possibly expect me to answer that, Potter when I have yet to attend the meeting?'' he snapped. ''How many times do I have to tell you, _think _before you speak! Time enough is wasted on your pointless waffling.''

Harry flinched slightly, hating this man more and more by the second. ''Well can I go?'' he asked keenly. ''To the meeting, I mean. I want to be there…I want to help.''

''Out of the question,'' Snape answered shortly, his patience dying fast. Harry was like an insistent puppy at his heel; one he very much wanted to kick. ''Albus would never allow it. It is aggravating enough that I have to take you with me…''

''But-''

''Enough, Potter!'' he snapped, reaching the end of his tether. ''These are not questions for myself. Merlin, I am not your guardian. It is not up to me what you do, or do not do. That unfortunate responsibility resides with Black.''

He stopped abruptly as they finally reached the gates. Harry didn't realise they were stopping until it was too late, and collided with the older man with a soft, ''mpff...''

Snape refrained from rolling his eyes as Harry bounded off of him, and onto the floor.

''Honestly, Potter...You are the most haphazard child that I have ever had the displeasure of meeting. _We don't have time for this!_''

''I will ask Sirius,'' Harry grumbled as he got awkwardly to his feet, feeling the heat in his face. Snape's anger was infectious, as was his foul mood. It was like a parasite. It infected his manor, his classroom and everything near him and, without a constant source of light, Harry was becoming sick with the weariness of it.

''At least _he_ treats me like an adult. He understands-''

Snape snorted loudly, followed by a short cruel laugh that cut through the air, turning Harry's insides to ice.

''Sirius Black cares for nothing but his own skin and for a shadow of a man that no longer exists. Delude yourself all you like, Potter but it is not only I that can appreciate the almost identical familiarity that you hold with your father.''

Harry felt his stomach twist into knots and try as he might, Snape's words had much more of an effect on him than he would have liked. He knew Sirius saw his father in him. Everyone did. How could they not? They looked so alike...But he knew Sirius loved him for who he was, not solely for a memory, Harry was sure of it...or he had been.

Snape's lips twisted into a malicious half smirk as he regarded Harry, knowing exactly the dilemma he had planted into his mind.

''The world is not all love potions and hinkypunks is it, Potter?''

''You're a foul, pathetic-'' Harry never finished his sentence.

He had pushed Snape too far. The man let out a low, almost feral growl and grabbed Harry's forearm so hard that he yelped. Harry felt a stab of pain and the next second they were apparating, Snape Manor disappearing from sight.

Just moments later, the two raven haired men landed on the doorstep of the ancient House of Black.

Snape immediately threw Harry from him so that he fell hard against the stone doorstep, as he momentarily allowed his anger full reign over his emotions.

Harry winced in pain as his elbow grazed the stone, a deep cut forming. He looked down at the damage done, his face contorting into a pained grimace as it began to throb.

Harry clutched his arm protectively against his chest, glaring at Snape. Something that may have been remorse flashed in Snape's eyes, as the fury diminished, and he made to reach towards Harry, but was roughly brushed off. Harry quickly healed his cut as the front door was thrown open by a very irate looking Mrs. Weasley.

''Gentlemen!'' she cried, giving them a quick strained smile, oblivious to the tense atmosphere. ''How are you both? In you come, quickly now. Watch the step.''

Snape shot Harry a warning glance as Mrs. Weasley disappeared back inside the house, but the teen merely gave him a foul look and followed behind her, refusing to answer the silent question. The wailings of Mrs. Black met their ears in a piercing scream of curses as they were ushered into the warmth.

Harry could see Sirius halfway up the stairs, struggling with Mr. Weasley to cover the wailing picture of his mother. His heart skipped a beat. Suddenly it didn't matter what Snape said. Sirius was his, someone who loved him and nothing could change that.

All of the bitterness that he may have felt towards his godfather at having not told him anything about Voldemort over the summer melted in that moment. What did it matter now?

Sirius turned to Harry as the woman was forced into silence, and beamed, a genuine smile bringing youth to his hollowed face.

''Harry,'' he cried, obviously delighted to see him, ''how are you?''

He took the stairs three at a time, pulling Harry into a fierce, one armed hug. Snape watched the embrace, through a curtain of hair, with an unconcealed look of disgust.

Eventually Sirius released Harry and took his face in bony hands, his eyes searching.

''I'm fine, Sirius,'' Harry reassured him, inwardly pleased beyond measure at the man's reaction. He'd missed this compassion. ''I promise.''

Sirius eyes were sharp as they pierced into Harry's, but Harry stared quite comfortably back. These eyes held none of the intensity and intimidation that Snape's did. He pushed himself back against Sirius, dislodging his hands so that he could hug him. He was unconcerned at the present time at how pathetic he must seem. He never wanted to leave the comfort and protection of these arms.

He felt a sigh rumble through his godfather's chest and opened his mouth to speak, but he was cut off by a sneer from the shadows.

''How touching.''

The reunited pair turned back to their reluctant audience. Sirius's lip curled in distaste.

''Snivellus,'' he finally acknowledged Snape, his expression changing dramatically. ''How lovely of you to join us.''

''Black,'' Snape all but snarled, his eyes filled with an equal loathing, ''your mother's as charming as ever I see. You have her smile.''

''You've never had a sense of humour, _Snivelly_, don't start now,'' he said, turning back to his godson with determination, refusing to let Snape interfere with this reunition. ''You didn't really say much in your letters, Harry. I want to talk to you. That miserable git's not giving you too much hell is he?''

Harry glanced over at Snape who was staring directly at him. Their eyes met and Harry felt an uncomfortable lump come to his throat.

The light happy feeling Harry had now, emphasized terribly the miserable, disheartened feeling he'd suffered the last week. All because of Snape. He longed to cling on to Sirius and scream abuse about the man and tell him how utterly miserable he'd been, but that would help no one.

If he told Sirius about what had happened before they arrived, on his very doorstep, he dreaded to think how his godfather would react. There would be more fights, more arguments between the two men, and he didn't want that. And after all he had learnt a lot. Snape _was_ doing his job. He just had no more control over his emotions than Harry did when it came to anger.

''You know what he's like,'' Harry said, turning away from the pitiless eyes, void of any empathy. He didn't want to be too ungrateful to the man who was trying, however unenthusiastically, to save his life. ''He's just himself…It's like having one loooong potions lesson, just much harder.''

Snape's eyes widened and he gave Harry a curious look behind Sirius's back, obviously wondering as to why Harry had not told the truth. Not for his sake surely.

''I had no idea you found my potions classes _easy_, Potter,'' he said, feeling in no way in the boy's debt. He could deal with Sirius any day; he'd take any excuse to hex the man into oblivion. If anything, Harry had just deprived him of that chance. He didn't miss the way Sirius put a protective arm round Harry's shoulders, silently warning him and reminding him about who Harry's godfather was. He ignored it.

''Your performance in potions would suggest that you have very little talent at all but, by all means...I'll increase the complexity if you are so sure you are capable.''

''How about the spells and things?'' Sirius asked through clenched teeth. He twisted Harry round so that he were no longer facing Snape, while forcing himself not to make a scene in front of his godson. ''How are they going?''

''Ok,'' Harry answered, grateful for an excuse to remove his face from Snape's sight. He could not act or feel natural, in a situation like this, with the man's eyes burning into his skin. He looked up at his godfather and tried to capture this moment where he didn't feel horrible, despite Snape's looming presence. He wanted to be able to remember it when he was in the training room with Snape, feeling like crap.

''I'm learning some really useful stuff…It's really difficult though. There was this one spell... It took me ages but I managed the dis-'' he began to explain brightly but was quickly cut off.

''Complicated maybe to the small, inadequate mind of a child,'' came Snape's silky malicious voice, cutting though the warm exchange spitefully. ''Potter Junior is proving no more competent than his father. I shall be surprised if I can teach him anything of worth at all this summer. His skill is mediocre at best.''

Snape ignored Harry's hurt expression, knowing that he had no real right to be so negative about his achievement. Harry hadn't done badly, better if anything than he'd expect from a teenage wizard, but Black got to him like no one else could and he did whatever he could to hurt him back.

This particular jibe was purely for the older man's benefit, despite the degree to which Harry had also felt its spite.

''If he's as good as James, that'll be great,'' said Sirius loyally, pulling Harry to his chest almost possessively.

''And on what authority-''

''Harry dear, everybody's waiting to see you.'' Mrs. Weasley returned, cutting Snape off mid sentence. ''Ron and Hermione will have my head if I keep you from them a moment longer. Do come through. You'll both be staying for dinner I presume?''

''We shall do no such thing!'' Snape said curtly, a touch of impatience in his voice. ''Potter and I have lessons to complete, hence the fact he is even with me. I shall attend the meeting and we shall leave.''

''You really are a miserable sod!'' Sirius cried loudly to a shriek from Mrs. Weasley. He barely got time to see Harry as it was without Snape taking away a precious opportunity such as today.

''Sirius, please! He is a _guest_!'' Mrs. Weasley shrilled in horror. Manners had to upheld even in times as dangerous as these.

''That slimy git is no guest of my house!'' Sirius said darkly, ''like he says, he's only here for the meeting. You stay as long as you like, Harry,'' he said in a warmer voice to his godson, though his eyes were still on Snape's, ''you're always welcome here.''

''Meeting's this way, gentlemen,'' Mrs. Weasley said quickly, stepping between them as Snape took an abrupt step forwards. She gave Sirius a firm look of disapproval and turned to Harry, prising him out of his godfather's grip.

''Everyone's waiting in the kitchen for you, Harry,'' she added in a softer tone, placing a hand delicately on his cheek for a moment with a tender expression.

Harry nodded. His features however, were strained as he kept a hand on Sirius's arm, preventing him doing anything characteristically rash. ''Thanks, Mrs. Weasley.''

''Are you sure you're alright, dear?'' she asked suddenly as she searched his face more carefully. ''You look a little peaky...'' She cast a disapproving glance at Snape also and he raised his eyebrows at her, not needing to ask to know that she thought him unworthy to care for the boy.

''I'm fine... Really,'' Harry assured her, gently easing her off of him. He squeezed Sirius's arm slightly as she continued to scrutinize him, warning him not to lose his temper. He could feel him straining to throw himself at his mentor.

Sirius gritted his teeth, shooting his old school enemy a filthy look, before smiling tightly at Harry and disappearing after Mrs. Weasley in the direction of the kitchen.

Snape paused before following however. A black clad arm barred Harry's entrance to the kitchen, opaque eyes rooting him to the spot.

''There is no reason to protect me, Potter,'' he said slowly and with great deliberation as they were left alone once again, his voice full of repressed emotion. ''I am more than capable of dealing with Black-''

Harry snorted. ''I didn't do it for you, _Snape.''_

''Ah...'' Snape looked down his hooked nose at Harry with a small smirk, his suspicions confirmed. ''Could you really be trying to keep your dear godfathers mind at peace...after everything. Are you planning to give him only the censored version of our weeks events?''

''You want Dumbledore to know how you manhandle me then do you?'' Harry snapped back, angry beyond measure that he was wasting precious time bickering with Snape when he could be with his friends.

He supposed that was all part of the man's game. Depriving Harry of what he wanted most had always brought him pleasure. Harry considered pushing past as hard as he could but daren't. Snape was far stronger than him and the consequences would be far worse when they returned to the Manor.

A flash of anger passed across the man's face at Harry's words and the threatening glint reappeared in his eyes. He bent his head, so that Harry had no choice but to look at him properly.

''Do not play that card with me, Potter,'' he warned.

Harry simply stared back, impatient. ''What car-'' he begun but Snape made a hissing sound, cutting him off as he took a sharp step back.

''I've never raised a hand to you,'' he said coolly, ''nor would I ever, no matter the extent of my anger. I pride myself on by ability to _control_ myself, Potter. If you cannot hold your ground when unsettled on your feet then I suggest you learn some balance, it is no concern of mine. Therefore, you can tell Black all that you please. I am sure he'd love the chance to-''

''Oh shut up,'' Harry said irritably, running a hand over his face wearily. ''Stop _judging _me, for god's sake. You don't understand. You never will.''

''I understand lies, Potter,'' Snape replied smoothly, regarding Harry with a guarded expression.

Harry's decision to be mature about this situation surprised him more than it should have done. He'd expected some sort of anarchy to enfold during todays visit as Harry whined to his godfather at his misery. But nothing of the sort had happened and Snape could not deny the headache it had saved him.

It did not occur to him to thank the boy, only confusion and resentment clouded his eyes, and he took the brunt of the boy's anger.

''I want to see my friends, Snape. Let me past,'' Harry demanded, past caring at trying to please the man.

He made to push past him but, as he'd expected, the man remained immobile, though his features hardened at the contact. ''Do not touch me, Potter,'' he said, dangerously quietly.

''Just let me pass-''

''I suggest you remember who it is that you are speaking to.'' Snape would not move. It was more a matter of pride now than anything. He wouldn't allow Harry to undermine him. ''It is _sir_ or _professor _at _all_ times, not just when Black is not around to protect you-''

Harry scowled. He'd had enough. He pushed roughly past him with all his strength, dislodging Snape just enough to duck under his arm. He knew he'd pay for his rudeness later but, at the moment, he couldn't care less. He was here to see his friends and he wouldn't let Snape ruin that.

* * *

The smile that lit up on Harry's face on the sight of his two best friends threatened to split his face in two. They pounced on him as one, squeezing the breath from his body.

After Harry had been greeted heartily, yet distractedly, by everyone in the room, the trio trooped together upstairs while the meeting took place.

''So...'' said Harry as he carefully shut the bedroom door behind them. He turned to them, a hardness in his gaze now that the initial shock and hapiness on being reunited with them was over. ''What's happening with Voldemort?'' He had not forgotten.

Ron winced visibly at the name, though he quickly smothered the look with a sideways glance at Hermione. ''We know as much as you mate,'' he replied awkwardly, ''they're not telling us much either and anything we did know Dumbledore made us swear not to tell you...''

''Yeah, I figured..'' Harry muttered, moving further into the room, disappointment threatening to fuel anger. He had to remember that these two weren't Snape. They were not deliberately trying to hurt him. ''How much else _do_ you know then?''

''Only what we've picked up on the extendable ears,'' Ron said, picking up a stray pair and handing them to Harry to look at, ''but Mums put a charm on the door now so they hardly ever work. We've tried to get into the meetings but...'' he trailed off with a shrug.

''Dumbledore must have a reason for keeping you so distant, Harry,'' said Hermione thoughtfully, ''he let us tell you about the Order though, I guess that's something.''

As Harry continued to look sceptical and irritated she took his hand, gave it a small squeeze and forced him to sit down.

''Once you learn to block your mind I'm sure he'll let us...well _you_ at least, take more part in what happens within the Order,'' she said, attempting to fill her voice with some sort of conviction for Harry's sake. She and Ron had had their doubts about Dumbledore for a while now and it wasn't like they hadn't been expecting this reaction from Harry. She honestly couldn't blame him.

''He must have a reason, Harry...Dumbledore wouldn't do this otherwise. He will tell us everything when he is ready, I'm sure...''

Harry sighed. He gave her a small, grateful smile, though his eyes still looked troubled. Ron, with a worried look at his best friend, dragged his chess set out from under his bed and feigned enthusiasm for a game, in an attempt to change the subject into safer territory.

Harry's smile turned reluctantly wider. He couldn't deny that he had the best two friends he could ask for. He gave up on his interrogation for now. He wanted to enjoy his time here while he could and would not let the anger he'd felt towards them during the summer dominate his mood now. Their time together was too short. The last thing he wanted to do was push them away. He wouldn't let Voldemort indirectly ruin this part of his life, the one part that had managed to remain intact despite everything.

The topic of conversation was replaced by deep discussions about Voldemort. They wondered at what he could be doing at this moment in time, what his plans could be, his next moves and the potential ways in which the Order of the Phoenix were attempting to fight him.

However, their little information limited their ideas which, as a result, grew, very quickly, increasingly unlikely, though it did make Harry feel better at least to discuss what had been on his mind for the last few weeks. It made the whole thing more bearable somehow to know that he wasn't the only one feeling as he did.

He forced himself not to demand any more answers from them today, that they obviously didn't have. His desire to know more about his potential killer was between him and Dumbledore now.

''So, is it really bad?'' Ron asked a few hours later, for Harry had yet to speak about his stay with their potions master, ''is Snape being a right bastard?''

''Ron!'' Hermione cried, sounding a lot like Mrs. Weasley. Ron ignored her, far less intimidated than he would have been by his mother.

''Well, is he?'' he asked impatiently.

Harry looked between his two friends worried faces and couldn't help but smile at them. It felt like a lifetime since anyone had shown him any compassion, and he was thoroughly enjoying experiencing it again.

''Well…Yeah he is, but that's what we knew would happen right?'' he answered with an attempt at a smile.

Hermione gave him a sympathetic look, easily reading through his fake calm, indifferent expression.

''It's ok, though…'' he said, wanting to reassure them, slightly irritated by her ability to read him so well. ''I _am_ learning loads. He is a good teacher I suppose-''

Ron snorted loudly.

''Well, he gets things across anyhow. Look, I can do the disillusionment charm!'' he said, determined to prove to them that it was not a complete waste of time. If he couldn't persuade them that he was happy, then at least he could show that he was getting on okay with his studies, something that Hermione would appreciate, he was sure.

He stood up on the bed and, after a few moments, he'd completely blended into his surroundings. Hermione shrieked and Ron swore loudly, both acceptable reactions in Harry's opinion. He grinned widely.

''See?'' he said proudly and cast the counter spell. ''It's not all bad.''

''Oh, Harry…'' Hermione whispered, clearly in awe. ''That's amazing…Could you teach me? I'm so jealous! You must be learning so much advanced magic. You'll be so far ahead when we go back to school.''

''Are you off your rocker, Hermione?'' Ron cried, turning to look at her with a disgusted expression. ''I know that's cool and everything but this is _Snape_ we're talking about. I wouldn't trade my summer for imprisonment with him no matter what magic I'd learn.''

Hermione just sighed. ''Speak for yourself, Ron. I wouldn't mind the extra classes and I'm sure Harry doesn't either, do you Harry?''

Harry looked at her uncertainly for a moment before replying. ''All _I_ know is that if all the company I have for the next few weeks is Snape, I'll go insane.''

Ron grimaced. ''I know what you mean, mate...'' he said sympathetically, ''if it was me, I wouldn't have gone. Not even Mum could have made me. I really don't care what I'd be taught. That man is the devil.''

Hermione tutted, giving Ron a dispairing look. ''You're not helping, Ron...'' she muttered before turning back to Harry, looking at him more closely. ''Is it really that unbearable, Harry? You do look quite pale. Are you sleeping?''

''Of course,'' Harry lied, ''why wouldn't I be?''

Ron and Hermione exchanged a look, which Harry took to mean they'd been talking about him. He wanted to confide in them, he really did, but he couldn't do so without worrying them. There wasn't like there was anything they could do to help.

''I'm sure Professor Snape has spoken to you about what happened...'' Hermione continued before Harry could elaborate further. ''I mean, Ron said that at the end of term you were...well, you were having some nightmares...''

Harry raised his eyebrows at Ron, whose ears glowed scarlet and he gave him an apologetic shrug. Hermione too was no longer looking at him, but the floor.

Harry took pity on them both. ''Yeah...we talked about it,'' he said, hating himself for every moment that he decieved them.

He knew that Hermione, and most likely Ron also, thought he needed some serious counselling after what happened in the graveyard. Who wouldn't? If he told them that Snape had ignored the issue entirely, which he had so pointedly, they would only worry and force him to talk about it now. That, he couldn't face. He wasn't ready.

Hermione nodded, looking relieved. ''Good. I thought he would.''

Silence fell between them for the next few minites. Harry stood up and made his way to the window, uncomfortable with having keep his composure with them watching him so closely. He sensed somebody come to stand behind him and was surprised to find that it was Ron and not Hermione.

''I think its really good what you're doing, Harry. Really, I do. You gotta be made of some pretty tough stuff to live with Snape.''

''Thanks, Ron,'' Harry smiled, ''but wait until we hit the end of the summer. I'll be a nervous wreck.'' He said this lightly, though they both sensed the deep feeling behind his words and he sighed. ''I think that's your mum calling,'' he said suddenly, ''I guess the meetings over.''

''Yeah,'' Ron agreed dejectedly. ''That man's a bastard. I can't believe you're not even staying for tea. Mum made you some as well. We thought Snape might stay...not that he ever does, but seeing as he had you...''

''You have no idea, Ron,'' Harry said quietly, ''how much that man hates me. He wouldn't even dream of staying any longer than he had to for my sake.'' They didn't understand. Neither of them did and in one, selfish moment Harry decided that they had to. He needed _somebody_ to. Dumbledore obviously didn't care.

''Snape really does _hate_ me,'' he explained, ''whenever he's in the same room as me, he acts as though there's a nasty smell under his nose. He'd hand me over to Voldemort the first chance he got if it wasn't for Dumbledore, I'm sure of it. He'll teach me yeah and make it as unbearable as he can...but whenever he's not, he'll disappear in a heartbeat as though he can't even stand to be near me. And sometimes when he looks at me...''

Harry shivered. ''It's more than hatred...I am my father to him. I'm James. Every time he punishes me, he punishes my father. Every time he calls me 'Potter,' he's talking to him...just through _me_. I can't even be me. I'm not me. I'm James. _You_ try living with that.''

''You're not your father, Harry,'' Hermione whispered, reaching to touch Harry's arm, ''don't let Professor Sna-''

''Try telling him that,'' Harry said wearily, gently shrugging her off. He couldn't expect them to understand...Not just with Snape but with the entire deal he was suffering with the wizzarding world. They had no idea how it felt to be loathed so deeply for something that wasn't even any fault of their own. Snape was right. He truly was alone. He sighed deeply. ''I don't think I'll ever convince him that I'm...''

''That your alright really, mate,'' Ron said, anger at their potions master showing clearly on his face. ''Forget Snape. Who cares what he thinks of you?''

Harry nodded in agreement, though he still didn't like the idea of always being to Snape an echo of his father. He had such a thirst to prove himself to the man, to make him see that he wasn't worthless, and that he _was_ worth the time of day. Harry knew they'd always hate each other but at least he could maybe earn his respect, if nothing else.

---

The meeting had gone on for a good few hours for which Harry was extremely grateful. He'd had the oppertunity to catch up with his friends properly, even if he'd not had as much time with the other Weasley's as he would have liked.

Putting any business of Snape and his training to the side, he was able to simply enjoy being with people that actually appreciated his company and cared what he had to say, no matter how silly or pointless it was. It made him feel strangely free.

It was with a heavy heart that he made his way back downstairs to leave when Mrs. Weasley called them.

The Weasley's and Hermione paraded behind him, their faces the picture of misery with sympathy for Harry. They paused on the lower landing to say goodbye.

''We'll see you again soon, Harry,'' Hermione said, hugging him tightly, ''and we'll write all the time.''

Harry eventually pulled back and gave her a warm smile, trying to convey somehow, without words, just how much he would miss them all. She seemed to get the message for a sad, almost bitter smile dimmed her features for a moment and she took his hand in her smaller one.

''It's _wrong_ what Dumbledore's doing Harry, just wrong. Ron and I will speak to him...We'll ask him to get you more involved or something-''

''It's ok, Hermione,'' Harry gently interrupted her. ''I'm ok...It's just for the summer. I can put up with Snape for that long...and I'll see what I can get out of him about Voldemort. There's got to be something he can tell me.''

''I wouldn't put any money on it, mate,'' Ron said stepping forward. He put out his hand and Harry took it. ''Hang in there, Harry. There'll be another Order meeting soon if the slimy old git doesn't let you come before-''

''I heard that, Mr. Weasley,'' came Snape's deep voice from the shadows, making Ron jump and turn bright scarlet.

''Where the hell did he come from?'' he hissed craning his neck to see down the bottom of the stairs. Hermione pulled him back with a reluctant giggle.

Harry snickered. ''See ya, guys.''

He slowly made it to the bottom of the stairs. Sirius gave him a small smile, that didn't quite reach his eyes, from where he was waiting by the door to see Harry off. Harry let out a deep, unsteady breath. He'd had next to no time to speak with Sirius, something Snape had made deliberate he was sure. He'd never forgive him for this.

''Don't look so miserable, Harry,'' Sirius smiled, trying to lighted the mood. ''This isn't forever remember. You can come and live with me when this is all over.'' He gave Snape a very nasty look as he said this and Harry turned also, and saw the Slytherin standing in the shadows, looking very keen to leave.

For once, the deep scowl lined his mentor's face wasn't aimed at him, but at the man who pulled him into a rough one armed hug.

Harry put an arm awkwardly round his godfather in return, uncomfortable with Snape watching.

''Sirius, you can't make such proposals without speaking to-'' Remus began but Sirius cut him off.

''I'll say what I like.'' He gently pushed Harry away from him and gave a warm smile. ''Good bye, Harry. And remember, if it gets too much…If he pushes it too far, tell me ok and I'll be there in a second.''

Snape rolled his eyes dramatically.

''Come, Potter,'' he drawled, having witnessed enough sentimentality to last him a lifetime.

''You go, Harry,'' said Sirius, giving the reluctant boy a little push. ''I'll just have a word with Mary Poppins first.''

''Where's Professor Dumbledore?'' Harry asked Remus, as Snape and Sirius disappeared into the pantry. He needed to speak to the man. He'd never wanted to talk to someone so much in his life. He knew he must have been here for the meeting. He'd know what to say to make Harry feel alright about all this, if only he'd speak to him.

''He's gone,'' Remus answered apologetically, putting his hand gently on Harry's shoulder. There was understanding written all over his face but this did nothing to console Harry. ''He left just a minute ago. He's a busy man these days. I'm sure he wanted to-''

''It's ok…'' Harry said quickly, not wanting Remus to have to make excuses for the headmaster's behaviour. He hoped his feelings weren't that blatantly obviously, though as Remus hand squeezed slightly on his shoulder, he knew it was only too obvious the disappointment and hurt he felt at the fact that the headmaster hadn't at least stopped to see that he was ok.

''He asked about you though, Harry,'' Remus said, trying to be supportive, ''he's forcing Snape to keep him updated regularly about how you're doing.''

''Right,'' Harry said. It was always about his bloody scar wasn't it? Never him. Never just plain Harry. Who cares if he's having a shit summer when at the end he'll be the perfect tool for destroying Voldemort?

The pantry door swung open wildly, crashing against the wall making them all jump. Snape reappeared in a flash, unhidden fury clouding his face.

''Out, Potter now!'' he roared.

Feeling thoroughly depressed and dejected, Harry gave his friends once last quick wave and followed Snape's billowing black robes out of the door.

Harry didn't know what Sirius had said to Snape but it had done nothing to improve the Slytherin,s mood. He gripped Harry's arm so hard as they apparated back he had to fight not to yank it away it hurt so much. He wasn't in for a pleasant afternoon that was for sure.


	10. Talk To Me

---

Snape strode off at a brisk pace, releasing the required contact with Harry immediately after apparation. Dejectedly, Harry wandered on behind at a safe distance, wincing at the clear tension in his mentor's posture.

He would much have preferred Snape to continue shouting. This tense silence was almost unbearable. Harry half- expected Snape to spin around at any moment, cloak billowing dramatically as he released a familiar verbal assault on his charge, yet no such thing came.

With a sigh, Harry dragged his feet, wanting so badly to be back at Grimauld Place with the others. He could barely stand the thought of them all together, having a good summer, when he was trapped against his will, forced to deal with the brunt of Snape's displeasure.

He watched the man march through the stone archway at the entrance to the Manor, stop abruptly, half-turn back, stride on a few steps and then turn completely, lingering impatiently on the grass verge so that he and Harry could pass through the wards together.

Snape's face was hard and unreadable as he fell into step beside Harry, a twitch evident at his temple that suggested severe agitation.

Harry almost allowed a moments pity on his mentor's behalf. Sirius had obviously gotten to Snape, infuriated him in a way no one else could. This bitter silence suggested a rage beyond that which could be expressed by the man's usual outlet, which very much consisted of yelling loudly and throwing curses.

Snape unlocked the front door of the Manor without so much as glance in Harry's direction. It was as though, in ignoring him, he hoped the boy would disappear entirely and leave him in peace.

However, this was not to be. He stepped over the threshold, his temple throbbing painfully with his growing headache, leaving the door wide open for the other to follow.

Harry grimaced and took a deep, pausing uncertainly in the hallway, uncomfortably aware that he was alone once more, incapable of successfully protecting himself against the fury of the much older and cleverer wizard.

He should have refused to return. He wondered now how he'd found the strength to leave his friends and godfather for this.

Harry jumped as the door clicked closed behind him of its own accord, suddenly nervous. Deep down, he knew that matter how angry Snape was, he wasn't going to murder him or anything. The man respected Dumbledore too much, and besides, Snape wasn't his uncle; he wouldn't beat him senseless for doing something wrong, using violence as an act of punishment.

Harry tried desperately to convince himself of this, as theoretically he _knew_ he'd nothing to be afraid of, but his legs shook regardless as he recalled the pure fury on the man's face as he'd fought with Sirius. Never before could Harry remember seeing Snape so angry. Not even he, the bane of the man's existence, could invoke that much rage within him.

Slowly, he approached the shadowy figure at the end of the hall. He could just make out, in the gloom, Snape pulling off his travelling cloak in an agitated manor, hissing under his breath words that Harry didn't understand.

Flashbacks of his time of the Dursley's assaulted Harry's vision as his teacher looked down at him, with the same distasteful expression he was growing so used to. However, weariness took some of the venom from the look. Snape appeared almost defeated, and bitterer than Harry had ever seen him.

''Here we are again, Potter,'' he drawled, motioning with one pale, long fingered hand for Harry's cloak. ''And once again you have managed to land yourself in serious trouble.''

Harry swallowed, a brief grimace crossing his face. His actions at Grimauld Place did now appear very foolish. He never should have argued with Snape. He'd known at the time that he'd pay for his rudeness, but then it hadn't seemed important when compared with the impatience he felt at being kept separated from his friends unnecessarily.

However, now that he was on the verge of receiving his punishment, he couldn't decide whether or not his disobedience had been worth it. Regardless, he was to be severely punished, there was no doubt about that.

Harry unfastened his cloak with trembling fingers. Snape snatched it, hanging it on a crooked peg beside his own. He turned back and raised his hand sharply.

Instinctively, Harry flinched. He ducked his head but all Snape did was run a hand through his hair, sighing deeply.

He froze when he saw Harry's reaction.

A brief look of confusion passed across his face before he snorted. "You think I'd hit you, Potter?"

''No,'' Harry denied immediately. He glanced hopefully towards the stairs, wanting nothing more now than to be back in his room, alone and away from Snape.

However, his mind had been read before he could even seriously consider escaping and he was stopped in his tracks.

''I don't think so,'' Snape sneered, ''not after your performance today. This way.''

Harry grimaced, following reluctantly as he was beckoned further into the room, his heart beating wildly in his chest. He did not want to be around the Slytherin at the moment. He'd firsthand experience of how unstable the man could be when he was angry. It was only a matter of time until he lost it totally.

Snape was, in Harry's opinion, a complete madman. This was only the beginning. He could feel the tension building and it wouldn't be at all pleasant when Snape finally erupted.

Harry watched with wide, cautious eyes as Snape flicked on the kettle and cleared the table with a flick of his wand, demonstrating all the precision and grace that he exerted so effortlessly in the potions classroom. Harry let himself relax a little as he witnessed this controlled behaviour. Snape was clearly making an effort to get a hold on himself, on the outside at least.

Stripping himself of his thick outer robes also, Snape flexed his fingers before laying his wand on the table and reaching up to pull two mugs down from the cupboard. Now only in a shirt and trousers, Harry found himself relax marginally, which he hoped, as Snape abandoned his true means of power, was the man's intention. He felt sure Snape would not want to intimidate him physically.

Snape worked methodically, extracting tea bags and pouring milk as if it was his greatest invention. Harry could appreciate, however reluctantly, that the man was an art. Even in anger, the man could portray the calm, cold self-discipline that Harry himself would never in a lifetime acquire.

Harry realised very suddenly that, though both could be equally as vindictive, his mentor was far more sophisticated and humane than his uncle. Vernon was brutal and cruel without reason. He was simple.

Snape, however, was a man of meaning, a work of art. A mystery. A distorted, obscure one perhaps, but he was more skilful than anyone Harry had ever met. For the first time, he recognised how valuable it would be to learn that kind of precision and control. Snape had a tighter rein on his anger than Harry had given him credit for.

Perhaps there was more to learn from Snape, the person, than Harry had first realised. Perhaps there was more to Snape, the man, than Harry had ever considered-

"You really are a terrible liar,'' Snape said suddenly, forcing Harry from his thoughts. ''I think sometimes you forget who I am, Potter. I can read you like an open, very uninteresting book."

Harry stood determinedly still as Snape stared intently at him for a few moments, before motioning to the chair opposite him. Harry sat down reluctantly, feeling very small and childlike again.

He remembered being in the exact same position as this, awaiting a verdict, though it was a different kitchen, with a different judge. The intimidation and fear, that brought goose bumps to his arms, was frighteningly similar in both settings.

Snape leaned back against the counter, his arms crossed tightly, an eyebrow raised, waiting for an answer.

Harry ran a hand through his hair. ''You pushed me earlier,'' he muttered tonelessly.

''So I did,'' Snape agreed calmly, apparently indifferent. ''And therefore, in that riddled, childish mind of yours, you surmised that I would-''

''You're rough with me all the time,'' Harry cut in, annoyed. He wouldn't let Snape make a mockery of him again. He'd every right to be cautious. ''What was I supposed to think? You could very well have hit me again.''

''That is different to what I am referring, Potter, and you know it,'' Snape snapped. ''There is a significant difference between an brief, unplanned... impulsive act of violence and-''

''A beating,'' Harry finished for him, unable to keep the bitterness from his voice.

Snape's eyes narrowed. ''Indeed.''

Harry just shrugged, causing a deep sigh to come from across the table.

''Why must you make all that we discuss such an arduous task?'' Snape asked almost wearily. ''There is no need to make this difficult, Potter. I know that you are not without sense, you are merely opting not to use it. I shall ask again and you shall answer honestly, in a sentence that consists of more than a few words that could have been devised by a two year old. Did you believe that I intended to use physical force as a punishment?''

Harry frowned and opened his mouth immediately to answer, but to lie now would only be too obvious. Yet there was too much weight behind that particular question for him to risk expressing the truth.

Snape shook his head, grunting his dissaproval at Harry's lack of response. If the boy was going to make a meal of this, he'd had no choice but to deal with it properly. That was the last thing he needed, though he owed Harry an explanation for his behaviour, if nothing else.

It _was_ against school policy to harm a student, in whatever extreme. No matter how he put it, he _had_ pushed Harry, and for little enough reason for him to condone fabricating some clever excuse that would provide a reasonable explanation for his violence. It was his fault. Not even he could blame the boy for his own actions, which he knew, as well as Harry did, were uncalled for.

"I was angry,'' he admitted, his face tense, ''unsettled...This particular emotion holds the power to overwhelm us all in certain situations.''

Harry caught the man's gaze and held it, cynical and distrusting.

''And that makes it right? You can beat someone up and blame it on-''

''I would not hit you, Potter! Not ever. Not in the consistent manner to which you are alluding.''

Harry could see that the man was growing impatient, but a while in the company of his friends had given him more confidence than he'd had of late, and he forced Snape to elaborate.

Snape's lips tightened as he shifted his gaze to a point on the wall, refusing Harry access to his eyes. He wouldn't be able to do this right if he was constantly reminded of who he was talking to. They boy's anger had a personal edge that he was uncomfortable with.

''I am a teacher, Potter, and therefore, I cannot, under the headmaster's rules, raise my hand to a student.''

His eyes flashed dangerously as Harry made to interrupt at this point.

''I may be angry…furious in fact… at you, at your god damn surrogate father who thinks he can threaten me...at this whole damn situation, but I would never... seriously physically harm you, nor anyone in my charge. I admit that pushing you was a lapse in control on my part. It shall not happen again. Black's precious godson is needed in one piece to fight the Dark Lord after all. What is it that you fail to understand about this?''

Snape turned abruptly as the kettle hissed and spat. When he didn't receive a reply, he closed his eyes for a moment. His back was still turned as he said, with forced patience, "I asked you a question, Potter."

"I _do_ understand," Harry answered, gritting his teeth. "It was a mistake. I was just...being stupid."

Snape slammed a steaming mug down on the table between them.

"Explain.''

Harry swallowed uncertainly, but Snape was quickly losing all tolerance.

''Talk to me, Potter, so that I may comprehend your incompetence. I am asking you for a mature, adult conversation. I need you to stop being so _childish,_" he ground out the word with a sour expression. ''This is obviously a serious problem. I cannot have you living under my roof, considering yourself under constant threat. I could beat you at any given opportunity, Potter, yet I do not. Surely your answer is derived from this simple fact. Professor Dumbledore would hardly allow the 'Golden Boy' to come to harm in my care."

Harry doubted whether bloody Dumbledore would care. He stared down at the murky brown contents of his drink, feeling incredibly uneasy. How much should he tell Snape? Could the man just tell when he was lying or when he didn't tell the entire truth as well?

_Why_ had he let himself react like that? Snape would never _hit_ him! Not properly. Not enough to do real damage. Not like others might. He had too much to lose.

"Potter...'' Snape warned as Harry remained tight-lipped. What should have been a brisk reprimand on an innapropriate response was not transgressing the way he had expected. Snape's suspicion was beginning to grow. ''I shall not teach you another thing until this is settled.''

Not that Snape cared for Harry's peace of mind. He just wanted to get this over and done with so he could start terrorizing the boy by revealing his deepest, darkest secrets, as easily as if they were his own Occlumency seemed an appropriate outlet for his current frustrations. He needed to make Harry feel worthless again. It was the only way he'd get his revenge on Black at the moment.

Yet there was also another side of him that was much more curious as to Harry's response. There was obviously a lot more going on than Harry was sharing, and Snape was going to get to the bottom of it.

Surely his moderate use of violence hadn't had that much of an effect on the boy?

Harry still hadn't spoken. On closer inspection, he looked slightly pale and Snape noticed, with growing annoyance, how very slightly he was shaking. This wasn't what he was expecting at all. He felt a stab of disappointment as the fun in forcing the boy into speech began to shrink, to make way for something far more serious. He certainly hadn't seen this coming.

Harry snapped his head up as he felt Snape start to probe and poke at his mind.

''Don't use that,'' Harry frowned. ''Don't read my thoughts.''

"Talk then…and I won't need to," Snape demanded softly, his eyes narrowed slightly in curiosity as he watched the boy, wondering what it was that he was so keen to hide.

Harry's face screwed up into an unmistakable grimace. His mind was racing. He couldn't find a way out of the trap Snape had unknowingly set him in. It was no use; he'd have to tell the man the real reasons for his fear.

It was his own fault for not practicing occlumency. If he had, he could keep all his private thoughts to himself, to hell with Snape. Right now, Harry had never resented the man more. Any limited amount of respect he'd ever recieved from the man was about to be torn to shreads.

Harry sighed and ran a shaky hand over his face. Looking at his lap, he murmured, "my uncle used to hit me, ok."

When he finally gained the courage to raise his head, he found Snape's dark eyes boring into the side of his face, not a trace of emotion exposed.

A second passed in silence, and then another. Harry held his breath, even as Snape's features hardened visibly. Finally, he quirked an eyebrow, forcing Harry to continue.

"My… relatives...you know, my Uncle, Aunt and my cousin Dudley, they hate me, sir…It's not a lie. I know you probably won't believe me, but living with the Dursley's hasn't been the best time of my life.''

Harry's soft, tentative voice faltered under the stern gaze of his professor, but he knew he was far from done. This was going to be hard enough as it was, without Snape making it even more so with his usual lack of empathy.

''Go on,'' Snape inclined his head slightly.

''Beating a child isn't above their morals…" Harry continued reluctantly, his voice very quiet and less steady than he would have liked. He'd never told anyone about how life had really been at the Dursleys. Not even Sirius or Ron and Hermione. The last person he wanted to be telling was Snape, and especially Snape in this mood. He'd no desire to see the glee on the man's face, when he learned of his abusive upbringing.

"I don't remember when it started…It had just always happened, ever since I can remember…I mean, it was only when he really lost it that it got," he shuddered involuntarily, "bad...I wasn't a naughty child. At least I don't think I was...No more than normal kids. I just could never please him. He...My uncle, would punish me if I asked too many questions…If I talked too much...If I didn't do what they asked when they asked…If I upset Dudley…that kind of thing.''

Harry felt the distance between himself and Snape increase a mile, the air between them bristling with an awkward intensity. Harry could not, even if he tried, bring his gaze up from his lap.

Snape cleared his throat. "You'll have to fill me in on the details, Potter," he said, his voice, unintentionally, barely above a whisper and lacking in the strength he had expected. ''Your current description creates a rather... inconclusive image.'' He recalled the fat, moustached man he'd met just a week ago and felt an unexpected, disconcerting coil of anger unsettle his stomach.

Did he really want to know? Snape suspected not. The boy looked now, as he shifted nervously in his seat, younger than Snape had recognised him before. The pale face, in contrast to the dark hair, and the stubborn, twitching of the lips as he fought back tears, suggested a youthful innocence that Snape had never before associated with this particular child.

''Harry?'' Snape prodded, wincing at the unfamiliar term, but unwilling to consider any alternatives to the boy's christian name when he appeared so rediculously, helplessly fragile. ''Tell me what happened.''

Harry swallowed thickly, hesitantly looking up at Snape through his fringe. At some point while he had been speaking, the man had moved closer, for now he was leaning heavily on the table, his face paler than usual.

It was the use of his first name, sounding so strange and foreign on Snape's tongue, and the strange look in those dark eyes, withholding some strong emotion, that made Harry continue.

"He hit me," he repeated, his voice no more than a whisper, so that Snape had to strain to hear him.

Harry touched his face lightly, his eyes distant as if he was remembering. His hands went to his stomach, images of his uncle kicking him played across his mind. He'd never forget that night when he'd lied in his cupboard in agony from his bruises, and his broken ribs just crying, begging for anyone to hear him and take him away from that awful place.

''He hit me hard,'' he whispered, memories crashing over him as he was forced to reveal what he had long strived to forget. ''He would shout and tell me how...how worthless I was and how much he resented me...''

Harry glanced away from Snape's carefully guarded expression, feeling moisture gathering in his eyes and hating himself for it. He'd been so young then. He hadn't understood. And now he was being made a fool of once again by providing account of his humiliation.

"I couldn't leave the house,'' he continued softly, ''they didn't let anyone see me. They said they were embarrassed...and I was a freak…I believed it...I kept making things happen, I couldn't help it and they punished me. And he shouted...he kept shouting and I didn't understand and I tried to stop...''

Snape felt his stomach disappear as Harry went on and on, as if he were in some kind of trance. Once he'd started talking about it, he couldn't stop. It was as if these memories were some terrible disease he was trying to rid himself of.

Snape didn't interrupt once, his eyes never leaving Harry's face as the boy spilled all his childhood terrors, all his bitter memories onto the man, finally sharing his burden.

Who would ever believe that Harry Potter, Boy Who Lived, saviour of all mankind had been beaten and abused so severely as a child? How he still suffered at the hand of his relatives each summer, when the rest of the year round he was nothing if not a hero...

Snape's hands clenched painfully around the woodwork. Oh, god how could he have known? How could he have ever guessed what the boy was really feeling behind his brave exterior? He'd missed all the signs. No, he'd ignored all of the signs, blatantly and unforgivably.

He could picture, only too clearly, a miniature version of Harry, a messy head of black hair lowered as he received blow after blow from a man much more than twice his size. He knew the pain he would feel and the terror, and the intense sadness and loneliness that followed it, for when the small boy, that he saw in his mind, lifted his head, it was Snape's own face that he saw.

A large lump formed in Snape's throat, choking him. His earlier actions...his violence towards Harry, though nothing compared with the brutality of the Dursley's, now made him feel sick. Of course the boy would have been afraid.

Harry came to a stuttered halt, his voice gone dry. He felt suddenly ashamed having allowed himself to carry on. Snape obviously wouldn't care. He'd just given him yet more ammunition to make his life yet more unbearable.

He sucked in a breath, knowing it was too late to turn back time and take back what he had said. What was done was done. He'd now have to pay the consequences. He wiped at the tears that had soaked his face and slowly looked up at his teacher, expecting to see the familiar unsympathetic dark eyes smirking at him. He expected to see him laughing after having enjoyed the story of the other side of the famous Harry Potters life, but Severus Snape had never been less amused in his life.

Harry certainly didn't expect to see the man with his head in his hands; the first time Harry had ever seen him looking so weak and vulnerable.

Snape's own childhood tormented him behind his tightly closed eyelids. He cursed himself for allowing Harry to have gone through the same misery that he himself had, when he so easily could have prevented it. A connection to the boy, a shared suffering, welded them in a way that tortured him so intensely.

For first time since meeting the boy, anger and hatred weren't at the front of his mind. Misery clouded his vision and his head swayed with the sickening realisation that he'd failed the boy. All these years he'd sworn to be his protector, to keep him alive for Lily's sake, and all this time, a far greater secret than Snape could ever have imagined, had played out under his very nose.

Harry wasn't a cherished little hero, he never had been. Snape could remember, clear as day, the boy's first day at Hogwarts. He'd cautiously make his way into the Great Hall with the rest of the first years, big green eyes looking up in wonder and filled with a fascination that could not quite cover the foundations of sadness that was a very part of him.

Snape remembered catching Harry's eye. He remembered wanting to portray so clearly and decisively his feelings, so that there was no question in the boy's mind of how much he hated him, and would not play along with his hero-worshipping as the rest of the world did.

But the boy hadn't even known who he was... Had he been beated that very same day?

Some hero that lives in a cupboard, in darkness and despair, without love and affection and all things that should come to those who are young, without a price. Snape let out a short, humorous laugh, filled with bitterness, and what was more profound and deep, to simply be called regret.

When he raised his head, Harry could barely count the emotions that flickered within his endless black eyes: pain, anger, regret, shame, disappointment, sympathy, understanding? But he blinked and they were all gone. Snape was carefully impassive once again, though his eyes still held something which Harry couldn't, and didn't, try to decipher.

"Petunia…" He remembered very vaguely Lily's sister. Snape certainly hadn't liked her but he hadn't taken her for a future child beater either, but he had to know. ''Did she...?''

Harry barely nodded his head. ''She would slap me…'' he said with difficulty. It was much harder to start again once he had stopped. ''And she never stopped my uncle either, that was the worst part. She just looked at me…and it was as though she got so much satisfaction out of it, like causing me pain made her happy.''

Damn that woman. Her own sister's son, Snape thought with a wave of anger and even greater nausea. _Lily's_ son.

He took a few large mouthfuls of his coffee, giving Harry some time to compose himself which he did gratefully, wiping his eyes roughly on his sleeve.

"That would make sense…" Snape murmured, more to himself than Harry, as his mind began to stew over this new, unexpected information.

"What?" Harry asked, drawn back into the present. "What would make sense?"

Snape looked him over calculatingly. How much should he tell the boy? Or more the question how much could he handle? He deserved to know the reason for his abuse, or at least part of it.

He blinked hard as Harry watched him, waiting patiently for an answer. How would he ever see him the same way again? The boy took on a whole new innocence as he sat before Snape, and for the first time in his memory, he had no desire to cause him deliberate pain. It was this suggestion that he was, or could potentially, go soft on the boy with this revelation that made Snape harden his features and answer the question.

"Your mother and your aunt did not get on," he said, excluding himself from the story in which he'd played such a major part all those years ago, ''or to be more accurate, they could not stand one another.''

"Yes…" said Harry, remembering very well his aunt's little speech when he'd first met Hagrid, and been told he was a wizard, "she thought my mum was a freak. Like me."

Snape gave a short nod. "Petunia was jealous of your mother's powers and came to resent them. She grew to hate your mother… and your father also when he entered the picture. And therefore, you. I doubt she was all too thrilled to see you arrive on her doorstep that night."

"No," said Harry bitterly. "I don't think she was."

"Though that does not make what they did right. You do know that?'' He had to make sure the boy had no foolish analogies that this is how a healthy family operates.

Harry nodded, seeming satisfied enough. The Weasley's had shown him great love.

However, as he watched his mentor, he was taken off guard by the effect his account of life at the Dursley's seemed to have had on him. Snape appeared more uncomfortable than Harry had ever seen him. His jaw was tense, as was his entire posture, as it had been earlier, though now it held a seperate balance. It was not anger than radiated from the man, but an emotion Harry could not quite identify.

Then as a strange thought struck him, he asked suspiciously, "how do _you_ know so much about my family? Did you know my parents?"

Harry knew Snape and his father hadn't been best pals at school, but where did his mother and his aunt come in? He must have known them well to know this much about their family life.

"Not particularly. Dumbledore informed me," Snape lied easily. "I had to have as much information as possible about your...family, in my position as a spy, to relay enough to the Dark Lord so as not to appear suspicious."

Harry nodded, having no reason not to believe him, no evidence, though for some reason this didn't seem to add up. But what did Snape have to hide? He sighed, in no mood to try and evaluate the man. He reached up and touched his scar absent mindedly, running his finger over the smooth skin.

As Snape watched, he wondered, with a sudden clenching of his gut, how many other scars Harry had littering his body because of that foolish woman and her husband. He repressed an overwhelming feeling of self-loathing as he considered how little he could have done to prevent it.

There were some issues now, between him and the boy, that needed clarification for his peace of mind, or at least to save part of his conscience.

''The day I came to collect you, I wondered then as to the indecision in your eyes,'' Snape murmured, with a sincerity that did not leave place for his usual prejudiced teasing. ''I did not realise it then for what it was. Hate for me, of course... You can hate as well as you can love can't you, Potter, though I doubt Dumbledore would agree with me. But I know, better than most, the extent to which you can hate, as you do me. We are equal on that count are we not?''

Harry nodded mutely. He had no idea where Snape was going with this but something told him it was important. The fact that Snape was still in the room, and so obvisouly absorbed and intent in having this conversation, still startled him. Snape rarely asked for his feelings, and never on a personal matter, unless it was to mock.

''Is fear mingled with your hate, Harry?'' Snape asked slowly, deadly serious. ''Do you fear me in the same way that you do your uncle?''

Snape's use of his first name, once again, caused a jolt inside of Harry. He opened his mouth to answer immediately but Snape continued before he could respond, his eyes now firmly fixed on his.

''Did you believe then that I would abuse you in the same way?'' he asked, not sure whether or not he wanted to hear the answer, but he had to know. ''Do you truly have similar... fears living with me, as you do your relatives?''

Harry could hear the apprehension in Snape's voice, even though no such thing was displayed on his face. It was the strangest feeling for him to witness it, for it was proof that the man did have a heart. Snape was not laughing. He wasn't pleased that he'd suffered.

A lump formed in Harry's throat. This was like nothing he'd ever experienced in Snape's presence. He'd no idea the man could hold so much emotion, yet repress it so well that it was hardly visible.

''No,'' Harry replied firmly, his voice momentarily losing the fragile edge it had adopted for the duration of their conversation so far. Living with Snape was nothing like being with the Dursley's, though the man made it equally as unbearable.

At Snape Manor, Harry felt constantly on edge and tense, he felt pushed to his limits and miserable... but he didn't feel threatened. To a certain extent, he even felt relatively safe, if not happy and cared for. He certainly wasn't sick with fear night and day with worry about what would happen if he put one toe out of line, as he had been at Privet Drive.

Snape would berate him. He would make him see his errors, in a way that was nothing if not harsh, and on many occasions cruel, but he did not deliberately play on his weaknesses like his uncle did. He didn't physically punish him, and nor did Harry believe he ever would, no matter how irate he became. Not really. Not if Harry was in the right state of mind to see sense. He didn't want Snape to think he was scared of him. He would not give him that power, nor would he show such weakness.

''I... I trust you, sir,'' he confirmed hesitantly, watching Snape closely for a reaction, but he was foolish to expect one. He was not skilled enough to analyse accurately, the tiny twitches and shadows that passed across the man's eyes as he listened, which were the only signs that he gave to prove he felt anything more than cold indifference.

''I don't think you'd hit me. Not like my uncle did,'' Harry continued, making sure the man fully understood. ''I flinched by reaction. You were angry and I suppose my head just put two and two together, and assumed you would hurt me. I can't help instincts, sir. But I do know there is a difference between your anger and my uncle's. I didn't once, but I do now. I am not that boy anymore who sat in his cupboard day after day, too scared even to breathe his own stupid name. I am harder, stronger...But...It still bothers me. You saw the memories. I am not over it, sir nor will I ever be until I get out of that place forever but I..I do not fear you in that way. You don't hold that power over me-'' Harry rambled on, knowing he was going too far and saying too much, but unable to stop himself until Snape convinced him he understood.

''Harry...'' Snape gently interrupted him, ''you may stop now. I both understand and acknowledge everything you have told me. There is no need to express it further.'' He gave Harry a small nod to show that he really did understand and was not merely brushing him off.

''And for once your judgement is not misguided.'' His mouth smoothed for a moment into a thin brief line that Harry would have considered a small, grim smile had it come from anyone else.

Harry nodded, undecided about how he felt sitting in Snape's kitchen, discussing such a personal matter. It didn't feel as wrong as he knew it should, and Snape hadn't reacted the way he would have thought either. Uncomfortable, Harry glanced around the room, feeling Snape's eyes continue to roam around his face with that same disturbed expression that so confused him.

"I am assuming that you have not told anyone about this?" Snape asked suddenly, shifting in his chair in the pretence of making himself more comfortable.

Harry shook his head, further unsettled by Snape's fidgeting. He had never before seen Snape so uneasy and unlike himself.

Snape sighed, a hardness swiftlt returning to his voice with his frustration. "And what may I ask is your reasoning behind this ridiculous notion?"

Harry shook his head again before realising that this wouldn't count as an adequate response, then shrugged at a loss for words.

Snape couldn't comprehend what Harry must have been going through, carrying this unnecessary burden. He was the Boy Who Lived. He'd overcome the odds again and again. If anyone didn't deserve to be in such a situation, it was him.

He didn't know whether to respect or be exasperated by the boy for keeping so quiet about this. He obviously didn't have the attention seeking tendencies he'd always assumed. How could he for hiding something like this?

"I didn't want people to-"

"To worry?" Snape snapped. "Is that what you were about to say, Potter? By not saying anything, you have created a problem that could have otherwise been completely avoided."

"Not when I was younger," Harry corrected him with a small shiver. He had no one to tell then, not even if he wanted to. They'd been the worst years of his life; he'd not had one shred of hope to hold onto then, not like he did now. He'd been completely alone, unprotected and uncared for and felt every awful second of it.

Snape's face contorted into an ugly grimace and, for a moment, he looked at a loss for words.

When he did speak, his voice was strained. "I know that this was unacceptable, Potter, and I also know now how you've had to endure the consequences of decisions made by those who are meant to be your protectors."

Harry knew he meant Dumbledore. He didn't miss the venom in Snape's voice as he said this, not directed at him for once.

"I shall let the headmaster know immediately of-"

"No!" Harry said a little more loudly than he'd intended.

"Excuse me?" Snape looked confused. His eyes narrowed in suspicion as he noticed how Harry had begun trembling once again. ''If there is more to this story, I suggest you tell me now, Potter,'' he said, leaving no room for argument. ''And explain why exactly you have not told the headmaster of this.''

"I…I don't want him to know," Harry confessed, for reasons he wasn't even really sure of himself. ''Not now. I haven't spoken to him in a while...It wouldn't seem right.''

Snape's face remained blank and Harry wondered how much he knew about his changing relationship with Dumbledore, if anything. ''And before?''

''There never seemed to be a time when I could've-''

''Don't give me that, Potter. I know how close the headmaster likes to keep his Golden Boy. There must have been countless opportunities for you to confide in him. Albus must have suspected something...He never asked you to recount your experiences with your relatives? In passing perhaps?''

Harry shook his head. ''Just...Please, sir. Don't tell him.''

All Harry knew was that if Dumbledore wanted to ignore him, he wasn't going to bother him with his problems that he could do nothing about at the moment. Perhaps he should have told him in the past, but it was too late for that now.

"Potter, you are asking me to withhold very serious information-"

"I know," said Harry hurriedly, slight desperation in his voice, "but just…_please_. Don't tell…not until the end of the summer at least. I'm not there now, it doesn't matter. I'm safe... I _am_ safe here aren't I?"

There was a flicker of anger that adorned Snape's features for a moment as Harry's face crumpled, as he felt the need to ask.

"Of course you are," he snapped, with such certainty that Harry was left in no doubt.

Snape made an abrupt movement as if to reach forwards, towards the boy, but seemed to think better of it. His hand came to rest on the table between them and he sighed heavily, as he took a firm hand to his heightened emotions.

His thoughts were so confused and disordered that he was forgetting who he was talking to. Some unknown, innate part of himself had the desire to comfort this boy who was obviously in so much pain.

Yet he'd no idea how to go about it. Regardless, this was Harry _Potter_ he was talking to. He shouldn't let the boy's own emotions affect him so.

Snape did not like the new intimacy that had developed in the conversation they were having. It was uncomfortable and alien to him. The last person he wanted to be comforting was Potter, yet here he was, wanting to do nothing more than ensure the damned boy's peace of mind.

"Very well. You have my silence," he said finally, as if it were against his better judgement. "But, Potter," he warned, in all seriousness, "there shall be no more keeping secrets. Not ones with effects such as these, is that understood?"

Harry nodded and gave Snape an appreciative smile, unable to withhold it. Snape had treated with such uncommon decency, that Harry could not help but show his gratification. Their eyes met. For a split second, an understanding passed between them. Harry tried to analyse the feeling but couldn't. He'd never spoken to someone like this before and experiencing this brief connection with Snape was hardly something he'd been expecting.

"Thank you," Harry said, for the first time to Snape with actual sincere meaning behind it.

Snape's head jerked forward slightly in response, which Harry took for acceptance.

For the next few minutes they both sat in a sort of companiable silence, each lost in their own thoughts.

Watching the boy opposite him unaware, Snape thought of everything he had achieved, all the obstacles he'd had to overcome already in his short life. He may have been extremely lucky in the past with his previous encounters, with Voldemort and the Tri-wizard tournament being just a few of the results of his consistent rule breaking, but Snape was not disillusioned enough not to know that it took a lot of courage to do what Potter had done. A fool's courage maybe, not a form of bravery he could have shown in the circumstances.

Especially after such a troubled childhood and Harry's life hadn't exactly, in reality, got a lot better. He still suffered constantly at the hands of others. Snape knew he'd heard only the beginning. There'd be more...much more that the boy was still hiding from him, but he'd no wish to drag it out. Enough was enough.

He could recall his own teenage self only too well. It had been one of the darkest times in a hard life. He remembered what a mess he'd been, how he'd turned to the Dark Arts in his desperation for purpose, and how being left to raise himself, as Potter had obviously been. He'd made a crap job of it. Of everything. So different to Harry.

For a split second, Snape saw what everyone else saw when they looked at Harry Potter: Just a boy. A young man who'd been thrown a real raw deal by the fates but was really doing a very good job of dealing with it.

He didn't even understand the dawning realisation that he was undergoing, as his eyes flickered over Harry's tired, pale face, for he'd never felt such confused emotion before, and certainly not for this person. Harry Potter was to be loathed for his spoilt, glamerous life. It was simple. Snape had just been deprived of this right.

He suddenly felt very tired. This afternoon certainly hadn't gone how he'd expected. He'd wanted to shout and rant at the boy until his throat was raw, but his heated emotions had been diverted in a completely different direction as, once again, Harry had, unknowingly, managed to pull the rug out from under his feet.

"Out, Potter," he whispered suddenly and harshly into the silence. ''That is enough.''

Harry jumped. He'd been as far away in his thoughts as Snape had. He stood up wordlessly, however, too used to the man's attitude to argue or wonder why he was suddenly been thrown out without an explanation.

Snape needed to be alone. He needed time to think and then he needed to speak to Dumbledore; that man had some explaining to do.

''An essay to be in my hand tomorrow morning at breakfast, Potter,'' Snape informed his student as he pulled himself to his feet. ''Your punishment for your behaviour this morning, I trust you have not forgotten.''

The walls of their non-existent relationship needed to be put firmly back into place. Harry knew Snape was doing this purposefully, as much to make himself more comfortable, as to ensuring he, Harry, knew where he stood, and that he was not at all forgiven and nothing had changed between them.

''I will allow you to choose the topic. The textbooks you have already acquired will suffice. If a mature structure is not adopted, then the entire procedure will be repeated until you are corrected,'' Snape explained in monotone.

''Yes, professor.''

Snape's expression was pained, as Harry turned to leave. He cursed himself for this moment of inexcusable weakness he was about to show.

"Potter…" He couldn't believe he was going to say this, but he couldn't let the boy leave in such a state, with so much unresolved.

Harry turned, already at the door, his hand resting on the ancient handle as he raised an eyebrow in enquiry.

"It is important that you are aware…" Snape had no idea how to put this. His head and his dormant heart were telling him two very different things. He settled for speaking quickly, as if his speed would reduce any sentimentality in the gesture.

"You have my utter confidence in anything you should wish to tell me. Anytime you may have the desire to that is. Do not feel you cannot discuss things you deem important or…effectual with me. Suppression of your strongest emotions in this house is not a burden you need to bear."

Harry did a double take. Snape was giving him permission and actually encouraging him to talk about _personal_ things…The man did look very uncomfortable about it, but equally as sincere.

Against his previous experiences with Snape, Harry believed solidly that for once, in this matter, if he chose to speak, Snape would actually listen.

He found himself nodding slowly in acceptance, with a strange desire to take up this offer one day. This was certainly a side of Snape that he could much better appreciate. A Snape that was capable of compassion.

"Same applies to you," Harry said boldly before he could lose his nerve. He could think of a response no more appropriate, though he felt a fool for saying it. Both of them had shadows in their past and an equal right to express them.

Snape raised his eyebrows and continued to stare at him, with Harry staring defiantly back, blushing slightly. Finally, he snorted and gave the boy a patronising look. ''That won't be necessary, Potter.''

Harry watched him turn away, a solemn expression on his face. He wished Snape would talk to him. He would understand him so much better that way. There was so much he wasn't telling him.

Could the man really be so capable of actual feelings? If only he could do occlumency he'd open Snape's mind right now and-

"Still here, Mr. Potter?" Snape asked without looking up, his voice as cold and indifferent as ever.

"No, sir," Harry said quickly, stepping out with a small smile on his face.

He felt a lot lighter than he had in a long time. He'd finally got something off of his chest. He's spoken about the Dursleys, and to Snape of all people.

Harry didn't question now as to why it had felt so uniquely satisfying to explain to Snape his horrific past. He did know that the man could never scorn him again for a idyllic lifestyle, and perhaps just some of the bitterness Snape felt towards him would be reduced as a result.

For a short while, they'd understood each other. It was enough to give Harry hope. Perhaps the hatred between them wasn't as deep as he first thought. He considered, for the first time, that there may be a chink in Snape's thick armour... a way for him to get in. All was not lost.

Snape had a heart and Harry, after years of denying it, had finally found evidence of its existence.


	11. Occlumency

----

Harry had lost count of the number of times he'd been reduced to a crumpled heap over the past few hours. Snape penetrated his mind again and again, and he couldn't seem to do a thing to stop it. Occlumency was finally upon them and proving as disasterous as predicted.

However, neither stopped to admit defeat, despite their growing number of bruises and headaches. Both were determined to force progress, however miniscule.

''Enough!'' Snape's agonized voice broke through Harry's intense concentration. Yet again, he was forced to tear himself from the string of memories invading their joint minds, as Harry's efforts failed.

Harry gazed blearily up at Snape from his undignified, sprawled position on the floor. Scowling, he regained his composure and pushed his damp fringe from his eyes.

Snape sneered, unimpressed. ''Pitiful.''

Closing his eyes and breathing deeply, Harry could only agree. He got unsteadily to his feet, exhausted. A bookcase supported the majority of his weight.

''This is pathetic,'' Snape growled, consumed with an obvious restlessness that effectively signalled his growing impatience. ''If you were not attempting so successfully to bring down this Manor with your infernal yelling, I'd severely doubt that you were putting any effort into this whatsoever. You must _concentrate_.''

''I am _trying_, sir,'' Harry argued heatedly. ''What do you think I'm doing?''

Snape merely shot him a disdainful look, and rolled up his sleeves further.

Harry grumbled against his sore throat, which remained the only evidence he had to Snape's word that he'd been screaming. He couldn't remember, or even control, what his physical body was doing as Snape invaded his mind.

Forcing the man from his private memories was all that he focussed on, but it seemed he couldn't even do that properly. Eventually, every single time, he would pass out. It was weak, Harry knew it, but no matter how much effort he tried to exert, none of it seemed to have an effect. It was useless.

Harry gulped up some much needed oxygen and tried in vain to close his aching mind.

_His mother screaming, his father shouting, that blinding flash of green light..._

He jerked himself from the bookcase, a wave of nausea threatening to overwhelm him. This had to stop or it would drive him insane.

''Alright, Potter?'' Snape asked sharply as Harry swayed on his feet.

Harry nodded his head absently, closing his eyes in a brief wince in order to collect himself. This hurdle in his training had stumped him completely, but he refused to give in now. They'd be here all day if they had to, not that Snape was showing any signs of calling an end to their current, extensive session.

A hand was clamped to Harry's shoulder and he felt himself being steered back to his chair, where he was deposited rather unceremoniously.

''Honestly,'' Snape muttered, as Harry gripped the musty fabric of the arm-rest with all the strength he could muster. ''You must calm down, Potter. You shall experience far less nausea as soon as you learn to control your panic-''

''_You_ try listening to your parents being murdered, again and again, and see how _you_ feel,'' Harry shot back irritably.

For one brief moment, Snape paled considerably. When he spoke, however, his tone was predictably detatched. ''Do not forget, Mr. Potter, that during occlumency we see the same visions. It is only because you are _allowing_ your concentration to dwindle, that we are both experiencing this particular, vulgar memory-''

''Don't act like you're not enjoying it. You hated my father! You must love watching-''

''Enough,'' Snape yelled, a warning so intense in his eyes that Harry faltered in his attack immediately. Snape looked very much like he wanted to say something else, scream it even, but his lips sealed into a hard line and he wispered again, harshly, ''_enough_, Potter. Try again.''

''But, sir I-''

''Again, Mr. Potter. Do not make me repeat myself.''

Harry stared at him defiantly. ''I can't just remove a memory. How am I supposed to-''

''Hide it from me, conceal it, bury it, I do not care,'' Snape snapped, waving a hand through the air for emphasis. ''The only importance is that your mind is full of blank, empty space. You must concentrate, not on projecting your voice, but on controlling your _mind_, Potter. The resistance is mental, not physical. I refuse to believe that you cannot so much as brush against my presence. _Again_,'' he demanded, offering only this brief warning before he forced himself, once again, inside his student's vulnerable mind.

---

Snape's recent insight into Harry's life had done nothing to dispel his ruthless teaching methods. What Harry had told him of the Dursley's had only been the tip of the iceberg, if these new, horrific images were anything to go by.

Occlumency was becoming a revelation of all that Harry's life had been before Hogwarts, and Snape was desperately trying to remain impassive to it.

But Harry seemed to have far more trouble repressing these deeply private memories, than the more mundane, especially if he was tired or started to panic. In order to avoid this, Snape was forced to censor his own viewing. On many occasions, he would pull out of Harry's mind almost immediately and instruct him to think about something -- _anything_ other than his childhood. Constantly revisiting those particular memories was not doing either of them any good.

Snape was certainly no more lax on Harry than he'd ever been, accepting only a hundred and one percent of what he could give. It was the only way in which they would progress. And Snape was sure Harry was holding back on something…

_Harry was sitting in Lupin's office drinking tea…He was punching Draco Malfoy in the face…He was facing a forty foot dragon with only his wand…He was falling through the air off his broomstick, surrounded by dementors. Snape could feel the fear in his stomach, the cold wind piercing his face, making his eyes water..._

Snape closed the connection sharply before Harry passed out yet again. He clenched his teeth and pinched the bridge of his nose, taking a deep, uneven breath before allowing himself to speak. ''I thought it impossible that you could get any worse, Potter, but once again you have proved me wrong. Congratulations, I could even _feel _your emotions on this occassion.''

Harry grimaced from where he lay on the floor, panting with exertion.

''Explain yourself,'' Snape instructed coldly as Harry struggled into a sitting position.

A helpless shrug was his only answer. Harry was sore beyond belief from the numerous times he'd come into contact with the unforgiving stone, and growing increasingly unwilling to co-operate. He didn't _want_ to be bad at this. If Snape would just tell him _how_ he was supposed to get him out... But all he got was 'try harder, Potter,' and 'more effort, Potter.'

Remaining deliberately detatched from his student's suffering, in order to sqeeze every ounce of effort and concentration from the boy that he could, Snape knelt down to Harry's level. He ignored the cracking of his knees and gazed at Harry, his expression masked and void of any sympathy.

''Then allow me to make an observation. Progress has been made,'' he murmured.

Harry's head snapped up from where it bowed in dejection.

''Indeed,'' Snape confirmed, a small frown on his face as he locked eyes with his weak student. ''You managed to project memories that are far more insignificant than those you've been determined to tire me with all morning. A marked improvement, though by no means a success.''

Harry gripped his wand with sweaty hands, his face tense and strained as he nodded in grateful acceptance.

Snape's eyes flickered over his fast exhausting student briefly before he reached out a hand, with a sigh. Harry regarded the gesture for a moment, before glancing up at Snape's face uncertainly.

When Snape raised an eyebrow, as if daring the boy to refuse such a rare offer, Harry relented and allowed the man to pull him to his feet.

''Thank you, professor,'' he said quietly.

Clearing his throat, Snape did not reply as he brushed himself down and signalled for Harry to prepare for another attempt. He refused to acknowledge his own extreme unease with the way things were going. Harry was weakening fast, but he knew he had some energy left in him yet. Snape was determined to get every possible ounce of it out of the boy before they gave up for the day. Harry would most likely be in a similar state of exhaustion when confronted with Voldemort after all. He needed as much practice as he could get.

Snape surprised himself with his own sense of desperation. The boy was nothing short of exasperating, mostly because he knew he _could_ do this. If he wasn't so sure of it, he would have given up hours ago, but he'd seen too many miracles from Harry to allow him to bow out now.

''Focus your mind on forcing me _out,_'' Snape instructed, keeping his voice to a low murmer as he circled the boy, prodding him gently to improve his stance. ''You are wallowing too much in the memories. Cast them aside, you have seen them before. They are nothing, Potter, _nothing_. Just shadows of the past. Forget them.''

''I don't know how to.'' Harry broke concentration to rip open his eyes and glance desperately at his mentor. ''Just tell me _how_-''

''Only _you_ know how,'' Snape explained impatiently, his nostrils flaring slightly. ''I cannot possibly describe the sensation any further than I have already.''

''But I-''

''Prepare yourself,'' Snape hissed.

Harry sighed angrily. He'd never seen Snape so frustrated and intent on completing something. He looked as ruffled and agitated as Harry did. His usually pasty face had a distinct reddish tinge and his lank, greasy hair was untidy, sticking to his face in places where he'd been sweating. His eyes had the look of a man possessed.

Harry caught the man's eye before he closed his own again, and smirked slightly. He couldn't help it. It was almost comical, the near madness that seemed to overcome Snape when he was so absorbed in his work.

Snape knew only too well what Harry was thinking and his eyes widened dangerously, silently daring the boy to comment. He whipped back a strand of greasy hair that had fallen across his face and, with a snarl, used Harrys's distraction to resume occlumency with much more agression.

Harry winced at the sudden intrusion and attempted to throw up a shield, but Snape was already in too far.

Memories quickly swan in and out of focus, most of which Harry couldn't even remember having witnessed, proving just how far in the intrusion was. Less than a minute later, Harry was on his back, consciousness lost.

Snape shook his head in disappointment. With a look of deep distaste, he stepped smartly over Harry's sprawled form and crossed the room to his liquor cabinet to pour himself a shot of alcohol. He downed one, then another, trying in vain to get himself to relax. Forget Potter, this would drive_ him_ insane.

He'd never wanted someone to succeed at something so much in his life. This was part of the reason he detached himself so effectively from his students. He could not care this damn much and watch them fail again and again. He _hated_ teaching Potter this. He hated this new found desire for the boy to succeed. The sooner this was over, the sooner he could get some sort of normality back in his life.

He ran a hand through his stringy hair, which had only grown worse in condition since Harry's arrival, and hissed in frustration. He sat down abruptly and folded his hands into his lap, waiting for Harry to grace him once again with his presence. It didn't take long. Harry coughed as he slowly opened his eyes, moaning loudly when he remembered where he was.

Snape's foot tapped against the chair impatiently a few feet from his face. Feeling very sick, Harry sat up.

''Welcome back, Mr. Potter,'' Snape drawled. ''On your feet.'' The little of his headache, that had taken respite in the few minutes of silence, returned with a vengence.

Harry glared, but the look was quickly replaced with a look of pain, as he attempted to stand. ''No cushions?'' he grumbled irritably, rubbing his sore backside. ''I thought this room could do anything. My arse feels like-''

''The room completes any task I ask of it. You should have no _need_ for cushions, Potter,'' Snape snarled, Harry's complaints doing nothing to improve his mood. ''I have no wish to ease your discomfort when you have yet to show me the slightest ounce of sustainable improvement.''

Harry muttered angrily under his breath, dragging himself painfully to his feet with determination and biting back all the insults he wanted to throw at Snape for making him do this. Deep down, he knew he couldn't blame his repeated failure entirely on Snape. The man was giving it his all, for once. It was Harry that was the problem.

--

Snape was at a loss of what to do with the boy. He had to admit, Harry had excelled with surprising speed at every other aspect of his training, but occlumency was a constant barrier to their progress. It wasn't as though he could berate him for lack of trying; Harry was exhausting himself.

Snape would almost have said that Harry's consistent levels of high exertion were admirable, if a little foolish. Snape knew that it was he, remarkably, who had taught Harry this dedication, and begun the boy's obsession with succeeding in every task, no matter how difficult.

However, it was Harry himself who continued to take this teaching to heart of his own account, and there was nothing Snape could now say to slow the boy down in his determination. Harry just seemed to have no defence mechanisms whatsoever when it came to his emotions. It was like he had a mental block against occlumency, and it was driving them both to dangerous heights of frustration.

Snape dedicated the rest of the week to occlumency alone, forcing Harry to practice and improve. Each night, completely drained, Harry returned to his room, his head pounding sickeningly. All of his dormant memories that had been so carefully buried, his worst nightmares, Snape brought to the surface to agonize him afresh. It was as though they had happened again for the very first time, bringing with them a level of emotional pain that Harry had not felt since he was a child. He'd proved himself wrong when he thought living at Snape Manor could get no worse. It had become hell.

His dreams were plagued with his parent's last words, their last plight to save him guilting him into an uneasy, troubled sleep. On and on it went, until Harry felt as though he could actually cry, given the chance, when each morning he woke up, knowing what faced him in the day ahead. He needed a break. He needed to get away, far away, but he knew that if he did, he would probably never come back and that wasn't a good idea.

He wanted comfort. He craved someone to talk to like he never had before. He wanted to free himself of these memories he'd thought long forgotten. But Snape offered no words of comfort and only rare, indirect encouragement. He'd distanced himself so far from his student, in order to preserve his initial hatred, that he was but a shadow to Harry; an irritant that only added to his problems, less human than Harry could imagine a single person to be, and seemingly oblivious to his suffering.

Harry was beginning to feel starved of emotional support, but was resigned to live without it. He'd had to for many years, after all, before Ron and Hermione had entered his life. He could do it again.

All he wanted was to sit around, without a care in the world, and play chess with his friends... to talk... to laugh...It should be his simple right as a teenager. But life for Harry never had been fair and, as normality wasn't an option, all he could do was trudge on, facing Snape each day at breakfast with deeper and deeper circles under his eyes and a more significant lack of energy.

* * *

Completing his first dozen circuits round Snape's vast garden, Harry savoured the burning stitch in his side. He pointedly ignored the monstrous shaddow of the Manor, where it covered the majority of his steps.

The first rain of the summer trickled down the back of his shirt unpleasantly as he ran, though he paid it little attention. A physical pain given to his overbearing mental ones, somehow calmed him. This he could deal with. This was easy compared to what Snape put him through, with those hopeless occlumency lessons.

Harry wasn't surprised that Snape was proving as harsh as ever, despite what he'd forced him to reveal about the Dursley's, and all that he saw during occlumency. Snape was now the only person, apart from the Dursley's themselves, that knew about what really happened within the walls of Number 4, assuming that Snape had kept his promise and was keeping it secret.

Harry had wondered many times how Snape would react to their conversation, after time to reflect. Harry hadn't known what to expect, but Snape's apparent indifference didn't surprise him, even if it did hurt.

However, he knew that Snape had a lot more feeling towards what had happened to him than he let on. In oddly intimate moments, his eyes lingered on Harry's face for longer than usual, with that same burning look, where raw emotion was displayed on his normally so closed features. It was as though he was trying to work him out.

Although this often unnerved him, Harry appreciated that Snape was finally considering him in a different light.

Running was the only thing that could rid him of his headaches in its gift of distraction. It was also part of the fitness routine Harry had set himself. He ignored the fact that unneccesary physical exertion was hardly appropriate, seeing as he weak enough alrady with constant, brutal attacks on his mind.

Images of his flashbacks, along with his constant anxiety and stress over his prickly relationship with Snape, further antagonized Harry's weary mind, rapidly deteriorating his general health. He was sure Snape's trampling all round his head was doing him more harm than good, but who was he to argue with the man? He just wanted it to stop.

--

Unbeknown to Harry, Snape was watching from the warm dryness of his kitchen, an mildly amused expression on his face. There was also something much akin to sadness that lurked behind dark, narrowed eyes, as he watched Harry plot his way through his maze of a garden, as though the answer to all his problems would be hiding behind the next rosebush.

Harry was taking no notice of the rain, though it must be soaking him to the core. Hair plastered to his face, he had a look of pure determination on his face that Snape was grudgingly forced to respect.

The boy had more courage and blasted Gryffindor moral fibre -- not something he usually valued but he recognized the benefit -- than anyone he'd ever met, yet these simple memories were proving such an obstacle to him. Such an emotion ridden person, Harry had yet to learn the dire importance of concealing ones most extreme thoughts and feelings. Always an open book.

He'd never understand the boy, though Snape knew, without a doubt, that he'd do everything in his power to teach it to the haphazard misfit, as he believed, against his more common prejudices, that Harry was more than capable of success.

--

Harry finally made his way back up to the house, drained of all remaining energy. Pulling open the back door, completely out of breath, a glass of water resting on the side caught his eye. Propped up against it was a vial of misty blue liquid and a small towel. He smiled as he ran the soft cotton through his wet hair.

Bringing the potion to his lips brought glorious warmth through his numb body. He silently thanked Snape for his rare thoughtfulness, knowing the man would never permit him to say it aloud.

* * *

That evening Snape was as merciless as ever. By the end of the hour period, Harry's determination was slipping fast, along with his own self-confidence with every hard fall he shamefully endured.

Snape had resigned himself to admitting failure, not something he did lightly, but in this particular case, he was more than willing to accept defeat. Harry was spent. He could offer no more and Snape couldn't ask him to. It had been a week now and they were both exhausted.

If occlumency could be taught to Harry, Snape was sure it wouldn't happen in the limited time they had during the summer. He could prioritise it no longer.

''No... One more try?'' Harry asked rather desperately when Snape suggested the idea of abandoning occlumency for a while. ''I think I'm getting there.''

''Potter...'' Snape sighed, his eyes closing for a moment as if in pain. ''Your progress would rival that of Neville Longbottom's potions work. You are not _getting_ anywhere. Do not delude yourself.''

''Once more,'' Harry repeated stubbornly. ''You owe me that.''

Snape knew the boy was hanging on by a mere thread. His voice wavered and broke as he spoke, as if he longed to cry out the exact opposite. But Harry _knew_ he could do this, if not today, tomorrow or even a month from now. Eventually he would be able to, he just needed more time. Quitting now would mean quitting forever, and that didn't bare thinking about.

''Please, sir.''

Snape looked into his students determined emerald eyes and shook his head with a firm, disapproving frown. ''Potter, you must believe me when I say this is utterly pointless. If you were ever going to succeed at occlumency in the near future, you would have should some sort of-''

''_No_...'' Harry shook his head. ''I can do better. I'm just...missing something. Please, sir. You're not supposed to give up on me. I'm here to learn, aren't I?''

''Indeed you are,'' Snape agreed, ''though not everything is teachable. Practicing occlumency is no longer creating improvement, but causing you to lose heart, which to someone with your sentiments, Potter, is vitally important. I will not, and cannot, allow you to destroy yourself in this way. You are becoming nothing short of an emotional wreck.''

The blunt truth of the matter sent a shiver down Harry's spine. He opened his mouth to argue further, but Snape held up a long, pale finger to ensure silence, and continued with his reasoning. ''Look at yourself,'' he said quietly.

A hand was pressed to Harry's shoulder, steering him forward. Harry grimaced at the close contact, biting his tongue against an instinctive reaction to throw the man off. Snape rarely touched him and never so purposefully.

However, as the gesture was rare, Harry sensed its importance. He allowed himself to be led to the wall, where a mirror clealy reflected his own, gaunt face. He held in a gasp, cringing as the features he assessed seemed so different to those that he knew to be his.

''Precisely,'' Snape murmured, releasing his hold on the boy and catching his eye briefly in the mirror before stepping back.

Harry raised a hand to his face and traced the dark circles round his eyes with a finger. He could be a corpse for all the signs of health and life that his face emitted. He looked haunted... and completely exhausted, as though he hadn't slept in days, which, now he thought about it, he hadn't. He hadn't even looked this bad when he'd left the Dursley's.

''May I also remind you we have much more on our agenda than this subject alone,'' Snape spoke calmly from behind him. ''We have spent, I believe, time enough on this. You must admit defeat.''

With a final look of distaste, Harry turned from the mirror and looked at Snape instead, silently begging him not to give up.

''There is no shame in admitting you are incapable,'' Snape said, lowering his voice slightly in an attempt to sound less harsh, for fear of breaking Harry completely. ''Not all have the...neccessary requirements to master occlumency. It may well be above you, Potter. It is important you learn, I do not deny it, though not at the expense of your health.''

Harry sniffed, his face an ugly gimace. Dropping his eyes to the dark patterns on the floor, he found that he could think far more clearly. He almost wished Snape hadn't given him an out, then he wouldn't have to consider his immediate failure.

No one would blame him if he stopped now, if he gave in, not even Snape. Occlumency _was_ ridiculously advanced... Maybe Dumbledore had never really expected him to succeed in the first place.

Harry glanced up again at his mentor, wondering if this were also true for him, but Snape offered no opinion of his own. He merely raised an eyebrow, waiting with uncharacteristic patience for Harry to come to a decision.

''I want to continue,'' Harry finally spoke, his voice quiet and unsteady, as though it would break if he dared raise it. ''Please, I do want to carry on. I _need_ to, for a while at least... until I can't anymore. If it gets unsafe, you can stop me, I promise, but I have to give it everything I can. If something happened...If someone...It would be my fault...Please...If it's not impossible, I _can_ do it. Believe in me for just this once, that's all I'm asking, professor.''

Call it being stubborn, brave or just plain stupid, Harry didn't care. All knew that was if they stopped occlumency now, it would be the end of it all. He'd have let everybody down and he wasn't ready to do that. Not just yet. He had to master this, then surely the nightmares, the random flashes into Voldemort's mind, the constant prickling of his scar...It would all end. It was the only way.

This training had become ridiculously important to him, which was only enhanced by Snape's change in attitude and his dedication, if not enthusiasm. He had to complete it. He wasn't going to leave unprepared. Not anymore.

Snape sighed deeply, unsure whether that was the answer he'd wanted or not. But it was Harry's decision, not his. Harry had to find out the limits of his strength on his own. Snape wiped his wand delicately on the insides of his robes, granting himself vital thinking time. He could sense that Harry was follwing his calm movements uneasy eyes... Eyes that cried out with the pain he was feeling. Eyes searching for comfort...and reassurance... For all the things Snape constantly denied him. Lily's eyes.

Snape blinked heavily, rudely turning his back on his quivering student so that he could indulge in a rare moment of privacy.

If Harry was to rid himself of his suffering, Snape was adamant that he'd be doing it very much alone. He didn't feel there was enough space in his small heart to accommodate another person's pain, least of all Harry's. He'd endured torture when forced to witness Lily suffer. He would not allow himself a simular vulnerability with regard to her son.

He would do as the boy asked, whether it be right or wrong. Occlumency would continue, for the time being. He would, however, bring the lessons to a very sharp stop if they became too overbearing. He wouldn't have Harry destroy himself over this. Not in his house. Not on his damn carpet.

Snape raised his wand once more. If Harry wanted to continue, he'd do exactly that, with the sole intention of proving to him that he couldn't beat everything. He had to learn that there would be many obstacles in his life that he just wouldn't be able to overcome, and occlumency could very well be one of them. There were ways in which he could fight Voldemort without it.

''On your feet then, Mr. Potter.''

Harry let out the breath and scrambled immediately to a standing position. He nodded quickly, feet squared, to show he was ready.

''Careful,'' Snape warned lightly, knowing he was doing this against his better judgement. ''I do not wish to have to send you to St Mungo's. We do not want to displease Professor Dumbledore.''

Harry didn't answer. They both knew it was a possibility.

''Leglimens!'' Snape whispered, almost lazily penetrating Harry's mind as weakly as he could, trying anything to give Harry more chance to get him out.

_Harry was eating dinner in the Great Hall…He was talking to Sirius's head in the fire...He was shaking hands with Dumbledore… He was strolling across the grounds to herbology, the crisp morning grass crunching under his feet... _

Snape felt Harry's distress and his rising panic as he searched for a way to remove the intruder, though the actual response was, as always, nil. Harry quickly exhausted himself and Snape slipped, with no intention on his part, deeper into his mind. The memories rapidly changed. Snape at once knew that this was a place in Harry's head he had not yet been...

He felt chills encompass him and hesitated, considering pulling back. He had no desire to see such dark memories, but he'd no chance to escape before he was drowning in them.

_Harry, a small boy under a head of jet black hair being beaten by his furious uncle…Harry being chased by Aunt Marge's dog, having to stay in the tree until gone midnight when she'd finally called him off…Harry starving hungry, cold…Harry bruised and beaten locked in his cupboard…meeting Snape's eyes across the Great Hall for the first time, seeing the hatred in his eyes, not understanding…He was tied to a gravestone, Voldemort was touching his face…Wormtail making a deep cut in his arm…Cedric's dead body…Voldermort torturing him, the death eaters jeering and laughing in the background…_

Snape pulled out sharply and stumbled backwards, his heart racing. His eyes shot to Harry, who was laying flat on the floor, an arm thrown over his face. The boy was shaking violently, as shocked as Snape had been by what they'd seen.

Harry had created a picture so clear that Snape could not help but be affected by it. He had felt Harry's pain, his sadness, his despair, the feeling that he was hated by everyone. Harry had thought that his life was normal...that abuse was life. As a child would… And those images of Voldemort and the graveyard…Snape knew how Harry had felt then, and god knows no one should ever have to feel like that.

''Get up, Potter,'' Snape instructed, his voice breaking on the Gryffindor's name. When Harry didn't respond, he grimaced at the situation he was in. He shouldn't have to deal with these emotional problems, it wasn't exactly in his comfort zone.

Harry felt a pair of hands firmly lifting him into a sitting position, but remained limp. His head was aching, memories of his uncle's beatings and his cruelty swirling around his mind…And Voldemort's face…those slits for eyes. The two memories had become one; he could barely distinguish them anymore.

The blurry figure in front of him hovered for a second and then left. Harry, alone, wrapped his arms around his knees, willing himself to pull together and not show this weakness. He knew it was his tiredness that was making him worse and worse at occlumency, and only now realised that this is what Snape had warned him against.

When the footsteps returned, he refused to look up. He wouldn't show the weakness in his eyes; he wouldn't give Snape the satisfaction.

''Potter, look at me.''

When Harry didn't comply, he felt fingers curling under his chin to inch his face upwards, surprisingly gently, until he met the endless black eyes of his professor. Harry didn't try to read the man's expression, but avoided his gaze, embarrassed and uncomfortable.

Snape made no comment, as he passed Harry yet another one of his potions and instructed him to drink it. From the moment it touched his lips, Harry felt a reassuring warmth spread across his body and his shivers subsided. His mind became a little clearer and less crowded.

Snape had remained at Harry's level, and when Harry looked up again, his expression was as inscrutinable as ever, though void of any malice. Harry noted this with a hazy relief; he didn't know whether he could take it if Snape shouted at him now.

Snape swallowed uncomfortably, as Harry wiped away the tears that soaked his face.

''I know you want to do this, Harry...as much as you have tried to convince me otherwise,'' he said slowly, deliberately using his first name in order to get through to the boy. He quickly held up his hand with a small, disapproving grimace, as Harry opened his mouth to interrupt. ''No. Let me speak.''

It had been a while since he had felt the need to do something like this...to offer words that did not come easily to him. Harry had been present the last time he'd felt this vulnerable also, and he could only pray it didn't become a habit.

Snape pondered over his words for a few moments, knowing he had to get this right. The memory replayed with horrifying clarity in the back of his mind, making it hard to focus on anything else. He never wanted to see that again, though Harry had been there in person and would have the memory for the rest of his life.

Snape shivered involuntary and blinked hard to control his emotions. He looked back at Harry with rare empathy. He had memories of his own that plagued his mind in a fashion that was not much different. He'd no desire to see Harry suffer in a similar way.

''I accepted your decision. I shall not go back on my word. We shall continue,'' he assured Harry in a low voice. ''Your own life and that of others depend on this. You must hold on to that certainty. Without it, there is only fear...'' he continued, knowing he was going beyond what was required of him to do as Harry's mentor, but he had to make sure that Harry understood, that he knew he wasn't alone and what he was doing _was_ appreciated. Harry finally met his eyes and Snape gave him a small, encouraging nod. ''I know it is not easy...or comfortable. You are showing extraordinary courage doing this, Harry.''

Harry didn't answer, just looked away wearily, letting Snape's words wash over him. He registered somewhere in the back of his mind that Snape was encouraging him, calming him and, in a roundabout way, showing that at least on some level he cared, whether he himself knew it or not.

Harry lifted his head uncertainly as realisation dawned. What was Snape trying to do to him? He couldn't keep up with the man these days. One minite he was being a bastard, and the next, he was the most understanding person Harry knew.

''Where is the Gryffindor who fought a dragon, that saved the philosophers stone…that duelled with the Dark Lord himself?'' Harry heard Snape's voice as though from far away. ''You can beat this if you believe you can. Your uncle can't hurt you here and neither can the Dark Lord…they are just memories…nothing but memories…You must be brave and live up to your name. No one else can do it for you.''

Harry closed his eyes, cursing the world for making him carry this burden.

''Don't call me Harry,'' he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. The sound of his name on Snape's tongue, said with so much repressed feeling, made him angry in ways that he could hardly describe.

For a moment, Harry thought something like hurt sparked in Snape's face through his confusion, but it was dismissed. ''Is that not your name?''

''Not to you it's not,'' Harry mumbled. He knew he sounded pathetic, but he'd had enough of Snape's mind games. He saw the Slytherin's attempt to console and encourage him only as a form of manipulation. Why else would the man pretend like he cared? ''I know you hate me...Don't try and make this more personal by using my first name. I'm _Potter_, aren't I? That's how you see me? As my father...''

Snape searched Harry's face for a moment, his own features blank, and slowly raised a hand to the boy's pale forehead. ''You have a temperature,'' he said simply.

Harry pushed his arm away, scowling. ''That doesn't mean I'm not telling the truth. Don't pretend like you care whether I live or die-''

''Now is not the time for this, Potter,'' Snape stood up sharply, eyes flashing.

Harry snorted, unable to say where this sudden renewal of his hatred for Snape had come from. He knew it was unfair to blame the man for the entire of his pain, but he couldn't seem to help it.

''I know you are confused-''

''I'm not-''

''Occlumency is bound to unsettle you, _Potter,_ and while I do not doubt your sincerity in your feelings towards me, I stand by my belief that this is not the time for such a discussion. It is quite reasonable for you to be angry-''

''I'm not-''

''Yes, you are,'' Snape said simply, his eyes never leaving Harry's face. ''You are very angry, and you shall get sick if you continue to approach occlumency in this way.''

Harry blinked against the rare, unexpected understanding on Snape's face, his scowl loosing heart until it was wiped from his face completely to be replaced by dejection.

''Shout at me if that is what you must do, Potter, but do not expect me to retaliate. You would not need to express these frustrations you have aquired, had you completed occlumency and not failed. Repeatedly.''

''What if I can't _ever_ do it?'' Harry croaked suddenly, having heard enough. Fear filled him, despite his best efforts to keep it at bay. His anger slipped as Snape refused to rise to the bait, and fight back to give him the emotional release that he needed.

If he couldn't hide his thoughts, Voldemort would be able to control him and he would be made his puppet. He would be the cause of his friends deaths, Sirius's death...They would all die because of him-

Snape grabbed his chin, forcing his face up again with more force than before. ''Then we all better say our prayers now, Potter,'' he said sharply, ''because not a soul could save us if you are lost.''

He sighed heavily, suddenly looking just as tired as Harry. ''I would not be wasting my time...my effort, trying to teach you something if I did not think it would take effect. As much as you may doubt it, I do have every confidence in your abilities. The only thing stopping you from accomplishing this, is your own lack of confidence and inability to follow simple instruction. Doubt only leads to misconceptions and false analogies of one's self, something you are not at liberty to indulge in I am afraid. You're no average wizard, not by any means.''

Harry stared into his passion filled black eyes, wanting so much to believe him. If Snape by some miricale actually _cared_, even just a tiny bit, it would make his life so much easier. Trust, however, was not something Harry associated with Severus Snape and he was quick to be cynical. Before he could respond, Snape spoke again.

''I refuse to let you quit.'' The man stood up to his full height, and Harry followed him with his eyes, suddenly feeling much more vulnerable as Snape stared down at him at where he sat on the floor, curled into himself. ''Not while you have strength left.''

Harry raised an eyebrow doubtfully. Snape hadn't been so sure about this earlier.

''It is no longer an option,'' Snape explained curtly. ''You chose this path and now we shall both stick to it. As you said...you _are_ capable. The consequences, as you have shown us today, may be far from pleasant...But I am willing to accept the challenge, if you are.''

If Harry quit now, the consequences would be far worse than if his battle with occlumency came to a natural end. Snape knew that if Harry caved in at this point, when he was feeling so weak, he'd only hate himself for it. He did not want to live with the boy when his moral was shot that low.

Harry gazed up at him warily, still unsure though silently daring to believe. Snape returned the expression, attempting to convey the sincerity of his words. He did have faith. It was there, barely recognisable, but it could not be ignored.

Harry gave a small sniff and rubbed his hand over his face, ignoring the renewed wetness he found there.

''Are you with me, Har...Potter?'' Snape asked quietly, never breaking eye contact.

''Harry.''

''What?''

''_Harry_,'' he repeated softly, ''but only if you mean it.''

To Harry's surprise, Snape sighed. He'd expected him to be abrupt in his response and show discomfort, but not defeat. Silence stretched between them and Harry realised that he'd been foolish to expect an answer. Snape would never call him by his first name, not when he didn't need to.

Snape's face slowly became masked, predictably shutting Harry out as he pulled back the barriers that he'd been forced to lower during their conversation, before Harry took more meaning from it than he wanted him to.

Harry shook his head, disappointed despite himself. He knew now that, even if by some miricale, Snape had actually been open with him for the last few minites, it was over now.

''Shall we continue?'' Snape asked finally. He couldn't allow Harry to get to him... He couldn't allow the boy any hope that he may, one day, be a suitable guide for him. He knew that Harry was relying on him more and more as this training progressed, but he had ensure that Harry knew where he stood. He wouldn't let himself get emotionally involved, it was too dangerous. There had to be barriers. He had to keep Harry well beyond arms length, even if this was proving harder to do with the amount of time they were forced to spend together.

Harry's heart pounded in his chest as he nodded. His green eyes were fierce with determination as he gave Snape the affirmation he knew he would. Snape was right. He'd made his decision, now he just had to stick with it. At least then he could say that he'd done his best.

''Good,'' Snape said, his voice firm and businesslike once again. ''Then stand, Mr. Potter. We shall try once more before dinner.''

Harry couldn't feel too hurt as Snape reverted to using his father's name; it was expected. He collected himself and faced the man, waiting. He didn't know how, but he_ was_ going to occlude him this time.

''I am going to repeat the instructions of how to resist occlumency, one last time, Potter, and you shall listen,'' Snape explained, lowering his wand for a moment. ''Your approach so far has been...''

Harry swore bitterly.

Snape's lips quirked. ''Quite. Now, you must empty your mind. You must be calm, Potter. If you continue to fight this with frustration and anger, you shall only grow more weary.''

It was a while later that Snape was satisfied Harry had processed all that he'd said, and was prepared for another attempt. He initiated eye contact as he gave a small nod of warning, before saying softly the word Harry had come to hate.

Harry felt the familiar sensation of Snape easing his way into his mind, though this time he forced himself to remain calm. He could feel Snape watching the same memories he was.

_Laughing in the common room with Ron and Hermione…Dobby catching his sock, the look of fury on Lucius Malfoy's face…_

Harry kept panic at a distance and remained carefully emotionless. Time passed and when Harry would normally have passed out, he remained standing, aware of his own two feet in connection with the floor in a way he hadn't been before. Slowly but surely, things became clearer. He gained more control over his thoughts, and he found he could almost control and manipulate them.

And there was Snape watching and Harry didn't know how he did it, but he felt a kind of magic that connected them.

Snape felt himself being slowly removed from Harry's mind. It was a very weak attempt but it was working, and he allowed himself to be gradually pushed away. And then it was over.

Harry hadn't fallen; he was just sweating profoundly and breathing deeply.

''Progress, Potter,'' Snape drawled, inwardly relieved beyond measure. This was a start. This they could work on. Harry had proved him wrong, once again, and this time, he was glad for it.

Harry glanced up at Snape with a weak grin, full of triumph, and could have sworn he was rewarded with a tiny smile of acknowledgment return, but he may have imagined it in his semi-delirious state.

''Dinner in half an hour,'' Snape said, bringing the lesson to an abrupt close. He suspected Harry would want some time to compose himself and calm down, alone, just as he did himself.

* * *

Harry appeared at the dinner table at the appropriate time, looking pale and tired. Dark circles dimmed his bright eyes, though there was a definite bounce in his step that had been seriously lacking over the last few days. He'd finally made a start on his worst subject. It would all be downhill from here, or so he sorely hoped. This second week had passed like a year. Harry was just glad he'd made some progress, even if it was small.

He knew, without a doubt, that without Snape, he wouldn't have done it. Anyone else would have let him give in, perhaps with the exception of Dumbledore, at seeing him suffering so repeatedly. He remembered Lupin and the dementors...He'd been reluctant to let Harry hear his parents voices. Would he have got Harry to where he was now? Harry thought not. Perhaps it was Snape's emotional detachment then, his lack of care for Harry that made him push so hard to get those results. Whatever it was, Harry was grateful.

''Occlumency is not at all your forte is it, Potter?'' Snape said lightly, as Harry quickly sat down, suddenly starving. Any cruel intentions he may have had towards the boy, any snide comments, were stuck somewhere near the back of his throat and, for once, he'd no desire to speak them. He left his comment at that and retreated to his own seat, where he eyed his own food with familiar distaste.

Harry looked up, preparing to glare, but there was no threat on Snape's face. His features were relaxed. Harry quickly realised there were no malice behind his words, he was just stating fact.

''No…'' he agreed slowly, suspiciously, ''it's not.''

''There is a book I gave you,'' Snape continued conversationally, tracing his lips with a pale finger and eyeing Harry intently across the length of the table. ''A book that concentrates on the finer aspects of occlumency. Would I be right in thinking that you have not yet read it?''

Harry didn't even bother to lie. He knew Snape already knew that he hadn't, though he wondered as to why his mentor was, for once, being civil. He'd undergone an emotional rollercoaster today...It hadn't occured to him that Snape may have experienced the exact same thing, but he supposed he had. The relief on Harry's final achievement had been just as strong for them both.

Snape looked tired, Harry noticed with reluctant sympathy. His eyes were less harsh and accusing than they normally where when they regarded Harry, but it was still difficult to read what was really going on behind the man's hard features. Harry wished he knew. It felt strange to be regarded by Snape with, what would be, a neutral expression. He blamed it on his fatigue; the occlumency had been wearing on both of them and his mood was likely to change come morning.

''Yes,'' he confirmed, ''it wasn't the first one I picked up.''

A small smile ghosted across Snape's face at this, as though appeciative of the honesty in the accuracy of the confession. ''I think the book could give you a little more guidance,'' he said, ''although I'm not fond of teaching from text on this topic, I think you need all the help available to you.''

Harry wholeheartedly agreed.

Dinner passed in relative silence, though for once Harry felt no threatening auroa bombard him from across the table. Snape seemed odly serene as he ate his way steadily through his food, and in no mood for an argument. When Harry asked him to pass the salt, he did so without complaint, which in itself was something unheard of.

Harry wondered, with great hope, whether Snape could possibly be being...considerate. He knew he looked awful and usually the man would use this to his advantage, and increase Harry's headache, but today had proved a turning point for them both. Harry suspected he may have gained a measure of respect from Snape with his effort, and was now appreciating the benefits.

Harry quickly finished his dinner and made to stand up, yawning widely. He caught Snape's eye and was about to ask to be dismissed when the expression on the man's face made him pause. Concern and distant affection lingered somewhere behind the lightly reprimanding stare.

Harry's heart jumped in his chest, but Snape dropped his eyes and cleared his throat, caught off guard by the sudden rush of warmth he'd felt towards the boy, effectively ruining the moment. Some force had connected them all day as they'd worked so closely together, side by side, and now that they were both weary and tired after thier work, and together in this, it was only natural for Snape to feel close to the boy. However, it unnerved him and he was quick to repress such unwanted emotion.

Harry suddenly felt much more awake as he stood awkwardly behind his chair. He hadn't known Snape was capable of such an expression. Admittedly, it was tiny and barely noticeable, but on this particular man, it made all the difference.

Snape opened his mouth abruptly, as though to say something, but the moment passed and he swiftly returned his attention to his plate. A sudden, reckless desire to tell Harry that he'd done well... exceedingly well, had gripped him in a moment of intense pride. Harry had shown some true courage today, more so than he knew, but Snape could not yet bring himself to praise him so sincerely.

He cleared his throat and brushed the thought to the side.

''You can leave, Potter,'' he said curtly, ''I suggest that you practice occlumency before sleeping. I shall see you in the morning. Don't be-''

''I won't be late,'' Harry assured him, resignation washing over him for the second time that day, as Snape turned cold on him again so pointedly. ''Goodnight, sir.''


	12. Prophecy

---

Despite his growing weariness, Harry wandered aimless circles around his room long after he'd left the kitchen. He was determined to put off sleep as long as possible, with a desperate need to delay the inevitable re-awakening of familiar nightmares, when they would begin again their vicious nightly cycle.

When Snape appeared in the doorway, a scowl on his face with reprimand for the insistent creaking that followed Harry's every footstep and echoed right through to the ground floor, Harry slumped at his desk with a grimace of apology.

Once the man's curses had drifted out of range, Harry dimmed the lights and pulled a stack of unanswered letters towards him. A flash of guilt, mingled with doubt, reproached him as he considered his potentially unwise decision to allow his mentor to remain ignorant of his intensive dreams.

However, as Snape's bedroom door was slammed shut with a thud, Harry winced, his conscience temporarily cleared.

An hour later, Harry found himself suffering from a lack of inspiration, absently twirling an empty envelope through his fingers. Grimly, he decided that writing to his friends had become a chore. Making a conscious effort to recall their smiling faces brought all of his repressed sadness to the surface and filled him with longing.

He considered mentioning his volatile relationship with Snape, expressing his concerns with the man's unbearably distant attitude and hard shoulder. However, Harry lost the nerve to curse the man in writing.

He couldn't bring himself to do it. At least not until he was prepared to also grant Snape the praise he deserved for proving a decent teacher, as well as a surprisingly accepting listener, when the occasion warranted such sincerity.

Yet, if the many current inhabitants of Grimauld Place learned that Harry was actually beginning to find the infamously hated Severus Snape bearable, they would class him insane.

Harry massaged his temples delicately with one hand, as his other scribbled fanciful tales of his improvements at occlumency, a frown creasing his forehead as he willed away his pounding headache. The very thought of mind control now had the ability to make him feel physically sick, but he knew the worst was still to come and he needed to get used to it, if not over it. Though this thought was not at all pleasant, it reinforced his dedication to the task.

He cleared his head of all irrelevant thought whenever he had a rare moment to spare, particularly before he went to sleep, his mind being its most vulnerable in its unconscious state. Fear of the nightmares that would inevitably follow the closing of his eyes was enough to ensure that this practice was no longer neglected. It had simply reached a point where he could ignore it no longer.

Harry jumped as a weight landed on the table beside him, knocking his finished letter to the floor. Obediently, she stuck out a thin, rough leg as Harry bent to scoop up his writing. A moment later, Hedwig had leapt back into the night, leaving Harry alone once more. The following silence was somehow much emptier than before.

Following slowly to the window, hands deep in his pockets, Harry watched her distancing form miserably. A deep sigh tore itself from his lips as a familiar numb feeling settled firmly into his stomach.

The silence pressed at his ears, louder than any scream, and he longed for a distraction. He wanted to do something... Anything that wasn't associated with work or just plain hard... Something that would make him forget. Something _fun_. He couldn't remember the last time he'd laughed or even smiled a real smile, and he missed it. He missed it like a thorn in his side, digging deeper and deeper each day that he was apart from his friends, and presented each day with only Snape's grim, reluctant expression that left him so cold.

However, seeing as what he really wanted was out of the question, Harry snatched his occlumency book from where it was hidden at the bottom of a large dusty pile, and swung open his bedroom door.

Portraits eyed him suspiciously as he padded down the hall, but he ignored them, focussed only on locating his mentor. He was sure Snape wouldn't mind too much if he just sat with him and read. He wouldn't be a nuisance. Harry just wanted the company. He couldn't stand the silence; he'd take anything that would oppose it, even if his presence was unwelcome.

Besides, Snape had been oddly more pleasant to him lately, treating him with marginally more respect, which made Harry even keener on the idea. He wanted them to talk properly, even though this was virtually an impossibility as Snape always ensured that they spoke as little as possible.

However, this didn't make Harry any less desperate for conversation; a small measure of normality in life that he so craved. Snape became a different person when he'd talk to him seriously, in those rare moments, about something that really mattered, before he remembered who was talking to and forced an air of unease between them once again.

Seeing as Snape was all he had at the moment, Harry was prepared to give more time to developing this growing understanding that was beginning to take shape between them, even if it wouldn't be his first choice of pastime if he wasn't stuck living with the man.

Harry hesitated at the end of the hall, taking a step towards Snape's own private rooms, but the hairs on the back of his neck prickled uncomfortably, reminding him of the danger he'd forgotten in his eagerness. He daren't go in there, not unless he was suicidal, as he'd no doubt that Snape would keep to his word and commit murder.

Instead, with a sigh of frustration, Harry ventured downstairs.

He stopped abruptly when his attention was caught by voices floating out through the library door. It had been left slightly ajar, with just enough light filtering through for him to make out two figures inside. He crept closer and carefully pressed his eye to the gap.

One of people he quickly identified Snape; he'd know that black clad form anywhere. The other however…Their back was turned, but that long silver hair was very familiar...

''…the situation is being remedied, Severus?''

''Indeed, headmaster. However, I believe the Dark Lord has set his mind on the prophecy. I fear nothing will divert him from the task of attaining it.''

Dumbledore.

Harry's heart jumped in his chest as he recognised the second man's voice. He made to push open the door to greet the headmaster immediately. His former anger at the old man momentarily disappeared in his eagerness to speak with him, but the sound of his own name caused him to hesitate.

''Harry can't know…Not yet. He is not ready.''

''You will have to tell him at some point, Albus.'' Snape sounded slightly impatient as he sat opposite his guest, tired and uncomfortable with the conversation, though he hid it well. If Harry hadn't heard the exact same strain in his voice over the last few days, he would not have noticed it.

''He is...not a child. He will discover the prophecy sooner or later. It would be better, I believe, for the boy to hear it from you rather than when he is staring the Dark Lord's wand in the face.''

''I know…I know…''

Dumbledore sounded exhausted. Harry caught a glimpse of large, heavily bagged eyes and a weary half smile of acceptance as the headmaster shifted in his seat, his face thrown briefly into the light.

Harry's frowned in confusion, wondering with a small jolt of panic what had happened to make both men so tense. Something do with the Order and this... prophecy? Had Voldemort finally taken action?

Harry pushed himself flat up against the door and watched their movements carefully, determined to listen and find out something of importance, irritated that they were choosing to discount him from their discussion as always.

''I must take my leave now, Severus. Forgive me. I know there is much for us to discuss, but...'' Dumbledore got to his feet awkwardly, clutching at his left leg with whitened knuckles, though his face showed no traces of pain. His unhealthy paleness, however, suggested to Harry that, like Snape, Dumbledore had become very good at hiding his true feelings.

Harry watched with disappointment as the man prepared to leave. Maybe he wasn't the only one Dumbledore was distancing himself from, he realised sadly. But at least it meant the headmaster's actions towards him may have been less personal than he'd previously assumed. But if Dumbledore was in trouble...

''I understand that you are busy, headmaster,'' Snape replied stiffly, sounding far from pleased. ''The boy and I are in no immediate need of assistance. However... if you remember-''

''You have my council,'' Dumbledore assured him, casting a piercing gaze over his staff as Snape once again exposed his lack of confidence when it came to Harry. ''You need only write and I shall help in any way I can, my boy, though by the sounds of it you are doing remarkably well-''

''Have you forgotten already my account of the boy's appalling attempts at occlumency?'' Snape asked harshly, pointedly ignoring the twitch in his left eye as he remembered the failure that was quickly driving both he, and his student, to near madness.

''How could I?'' Dumbledore gave him a small, tired smile. ''You were so detailed.''

Snape's lip curled and Harry winced, knowing that look all too well. The man wasn't happy.

''There is nothing amusing about this situation, Albus,'' he snapped. ''If Potter cannot even master the ability to conceal his own trivial emotions-''

Dumbledore waved his hand dismissively. ''It will come. I have no doubt in you, Severus. You are a fine teacher when you put your mind to it.''

Snape snorted. ''You know how I detest-''

''Yet these other grand achievements that you've helped guide towards Harry, are by no means the work of a man so loathsome of his job,'' Dumbledore argued lightly, lifting his cloak from the back of his and draping it over his arm.

He reached out and bravely laid his hand on the younger man's shoulder. Snape stiffened but held still, defensive towards the ever present knowing look in Dumbledore's eyes.

''You never could relax,'' he sighed, squeezing briefly before dropping his hand to run it through his beard. ''Always so tense...Yet you are making such progress with the boy-''

''I never said that Potter had proved himself anything above mediocre,'' Snape snarled stubbornly.

''Oh but you did, Severus, if not in so many words.'' Dumbledore's eyes regained their old twinkle, if but for a moment, as he regarded his younger friend. ''I am very proud-''

Snape hissed loudly and Harry couldn't help but laugh quietly at the man's predictable reaction to praise. It was true, Snape had taught him a lot and was probably outdoing Dumbledore's weak predictions by a mile, and fulfilling his hopes that he may rise to the challenge of training someone that he so hated, with success.

''But...'' Dumbledore continued, humour and a hint of sadness in his voice, when he was met only with a stony glare to his warm words. ''I did promise that you would not be alone in this task. I know that it makes you...uncomfortable to be in such close confines with Harry, and I shall endeavour to take more of an active role in teaching the boy certain necessities myself...though not immediately I am afraid.''

Snape nodded his head in grim acknowledgement, his face blank and expressionless once more. Finally, Dumbledore seemed satisfied that he'd said enough. His eyes strayed towards his watch.

''As long as you are making progress, Severus, I have no complaints, and if you are happy to continue with the arrangement...'' His voice was brisk and businesslike as he raised an eyebrow, awaiting his confirmation.

Snape's lips tightened and his jaw clenched, but he nodded firmly.

Harry swallowed, warming strangely at the surprisingly confident response. With a palm on the door, he prepared to push it open.

''Excellent. Now, same time next week?''

Harry's face fell and he turned from the door, resting his cheek against the smooth wood with a sigh. Dumbledore was going again. He was blatantly ensuring that they did not meet. Not even to exchange pleasantries.

''Wait, there is one more thing I would like us to discuss…'' Snape begun as Dumbledore shrugged into his cloak.

Harry froze. Snape wouldn't -- He _swore_ silence over the Dursley's abuse. Harry held his breath, praying to all the gods he could think of that Snape would keep his word.

A tense moment later, Snape had muttered a short, ''never mind,'' and was bidding the older man goodnight.

Harry felt a strong wave of gratitude for his mentor, though he couldn't help but wonder why Snape had shown this rare sign of loyalty, especially to him. Snape had never bothered with protecting his feelings before, preferring in the past to exploit them to his own amusement.

Dumbledore gave Snape a quick searching look, before bowing solemnly and turning to leave.

Hurt, confused and wanting answers for once, instead of simply being brushed off, Harry pushed open the heavy library door and cleared his throat.

Snape turned sharply towards him, a familiar frown adorning his features, but Dumbledore remained with his back to him. Harry swallowed against the rejection that brought a lump to his throat. He must have done something truly awful to deserve such treatment.

''Good evening, Professor Dumbledore,'' he said loudly, watching the back of his head carefully, waiting for a reaction. He wasn't going to let himself leave without an explanation. Not this time.

Snape shook his head, a dangerous look in his eye as he raised a dark eyebrow, as if in question of Harry being out of bed.

Harry gulped and shrugged in response, wincing slightly before turning to stare determinedly at the headmaster, refusing to be intimidated.

He thought he heard the older man sigh before he slowly turned around to smile, though it didn't reach his eyes, not by a long stretch. He looked completely drained and older than ever before. He seemed to have gained a heavier amount of wrinkles, and he'd definitely lost a significant amount of weight. The sight made Harry uncomfortable, though not enough to displace his growing annoyance with the man.

''Good evening, Harry,'' Dumbledore eventually replied. ''I had assumed you were sleeping.'' His light gaze, infuriatingly, rested at a point some centimetres over Harry's left shoulder.

Holding back a bite of irritation, Harry answered tight lipped. ''No, sir. I was-''

''Good, good,'' Dumbledore interrupted, giving Harry no time to elaborate. His eyes were unnaturally dim and his hands, which Harry suddenly realised were shaking, strayed towards his pockets. ''Well, I'll leave you boys in peace. There is much to be done. Good luck to both of you.''

He turned once again to leave but it was Snape who called him back, prolonging the headmaster's apparation for the second time.

Surprised, Harry transferred his intense gaze from Dumbledore, to register the confusion on his mentor's face. Snape obviously didn't know any more than he did with regard to the headmaster's change of behaviour towards him. He hadn't been confided in either.

Snape cocked his head to the side and regarded the headmaster afresh. He'd readily assumed that the older man had refused teaching Harry himself due to his demanding role as head of the Order, but the validity of this theory was being thoroughly tested. It was never a promising sign when Albus was keeping a secret. It meant trouble.

''I am sure Potter would care for a conversation, headmaster,'' he said lightly, making a sweeping gesture towards the dejected boy stood in the entrance to the library in his too big pyjamas. ''I am sure, if you doubt my honesty, that he will provide you with an account of his current progress.''

Snape's fears were confirmed when Dumbledore tensed, a grimace flashing across his features before he smoothed them into composure. ''I think not,'' he disagreed quietly.

The headmaster's attitude towards Harry confused and, to some extent, alarmed Snape. To deliberately ignore the boy was a tactic to which Snape saw no benefit from the headmaster's position. He'd been so favourable of his precious 'Boy Who Lived' in the past, so affectionate, some would say too so. His blatant dismissal of Harry now was an ugly surprise. He had no palpable reason to understand why their relationship should have changed.

Dumbledore appeared to be far more concerned with one of the many strange creatures hanging from a bracket between the many lines of books, than he was with the present conversation. His whole manner had changed since the boy had entered the room and he looked nothing if desperate to get away.

Snape attempted to use occlumency on him, but Dumbledore was, reassuringly, as impenetrable as ever.

''Or perhaps there is a few more words needed to be spoken between _us_?'' Snape continued, eyes narrowed in a deeply curious expression. ''I do not think our previous conversation has come to an end-''

''Oh it has, Severus,'' Dumbledore answered uneasily, denying Snape's subtle request for an explanation. ''For now,'' he added, as an afterthought. His eyes shifted to Snape for just a moment, before returning to the revolting creature on the wall. ''Forgive me.''

Snape's jaw tightened. He'd known the man was overworking himself, beginning to look every bit his age, but this behaviour was too disconcerting to ignore. It was obvious that a face to face confrontation with Harry had been exactly what Dumbledore had been avoiding.

This was the last thing Snape needed to be worrying about. He hissed under his breath, cursing the man who'd brought him nothing but aggravation this summer.

The silence between the three of them was thickening by the second. With a glance in Harry's direction, Snape found Harry's reaction as expected. The boy's wide eyes were fixed on Dumbledore. It didn't take a genius to decipher the overwhelming sense of betrayal radiating from him.

Snape made a decision without much conscious thought, acting more impulsively than he would have done had the situation not been so dire. If Dumbledore's judgement, with regard to Harry, had become clouded, then Snape saw no other option but to take control. It would be him, after all, that took the brunt of the responsibility if Harry was left to face his destiny unprepared.

''If you won't tell the boy Albus, _I_ shall,'' he promised quietly.

Dumbledore was slow to respond. Finally, he gave a brief nod. ''Perhaps you would now know better than I when the time is right.''

Snape stepped forward, confusion creasing his face as he received such unexpected consent. ''Albus…''

''Goodnight, Severus. Harry,'' Dumbledore muttered, much too fast, and was gone with a swish of his long travelling cloak, leaving a highly perplexed and irritated pair in his wake.

''What's the matter with him?'' Harry asked immediately into the following silence, reflecting Snape's thoughts exactly.

''I have no idea,'' Snape answered heavily, motioning Harry towards one of the comfy armchairs with a sigh. ''None at all... But I intend to find out.''

Harry frowned and opened his mouth to ask a question, but was side-tracked by Snape's intense gaze, trained on his face. The last thing Harry wanted was to project just how upset he was by Dumbledore's disregard for him, so he smoothed out his face into a neutral expression and settled back in a chair, tucking his feet beneath him.

He yawned suddenly as he remembered just how tired he was, sinking further into the softness of the chair and forgetting all his problems for a moment through a sudden weariness. There was nothing further he could do about Dumbledore now. He was gone. Again.

''Comfy Potter?'' Snape asked, shaking his head with a flicker of bemusement. ''What are you? Some sort of feline?''

It was not often that Harry appeared so relaxed in his presence. Strangely, it was refreshing to see the boy's face so lacking in tension and anger, usually directed towards him, that Snape didn't wish to upset it. His current headache would allow no further disputes this evening.

Harry shrugged, smiling gently. It caught him off guard each time that Snape spoke to him that way, teasing in his usual cruel manner, but without any real scorn. He didn't think he'd ever get used to hearing his voice without any true malice.

It made him confident to think that Snape was finally getting used to his presence, despite all else, and was almost becoming comfortable with it. To a certain extent, Harry would say that Snape may even like him to some small degree, or at least hate him a little less than he used to. The undercurrents of affection in the man's tired eyes were enough to have Harry at least hopefully considering the idea.

''What are you thinking?'' Snape asked abruptly, startling Harry from his pensiveness.

Opening his mouth to answer, Harry found himself distracted, once again, by the simple curiosity in Snape's voice. No threat. No warning. Just simple intrigue.

It was these moments of both mental and physical exhaustion, that Harry was granted a tiny window into the soul of his teacher. When his defences were at their lowest, Snape had a hard time concealing the bitter fact that he was just as lonely as Harry was once the mayhem from the day had settled, and neither had someone with which to share the calm.

Harry received only a shadow of acceptance, and he knew it was probably mostly because he was the only company available, but it was treasured nonetheless. Snape's willing presence in the same room was a form of comfort that Harry craved, and if this was all he'd get, it would have to do.

His only other concern, at the moment, was that Snape hadn't thrown him out yet. He was keen to keep the man from growing characteristically hostile and returning him to bed, and therefore, Harry behaved, biting his tongue so that he didn't ask all the questions he wanted to.

''Nothing,'' Harry finally answered quietly.

Snape raised an eyebrow, giving him the opportunity to elaborate if he so wished, but when the boy remained silent, he relented.

''It would not surprise me if you had finally given up attempting to associate yourself with the human race,'' he remarked absently, reverting to his usual mockery in order to ease his own discomfort. The far away, almost wistful look of wary hope that Harry was presently giving him was decidedly unnerving. ''Your thought patterns have never been particularly clear.''

Harry remained silent, waiting to see whether or not he was going to be dismissed as he usually was when his presence wasn't strictly required. If only Snape would give him a chance. They could get on. They could be good for each other. Harry _knew_ they could. The potential was there and it was growing, despite Snape's insistence to beat it down.

''I thought you would be long gone with sleep by now, Potter,'' Snape continued more lightly, as Harry remained unprovoked, a suspicious gleam in his eye as he glanced up at the clock. ''The hour is late and you look-''

''Don't even start on how I look,'' Harry rolled his eyes. ''I know I look like shi-''

''Ah,'' Snape spoke across him, a warning in his voice. ''Swear, Potter, and I shall return you to your room immediately.''

''So I can stay down for a bit?'' Harry asked hopefully, perking up. ''You can tell me about what you and Dumbledore were talking about.''

Snape snorted in disapproval. ''I don't think so. You brought something to read, did you not?'' He motioned towards the occlumency book on Harry's lap. He didn't much feel like being alone himself, and it was only too clear that the boy wanted company. Why Harry would settle for his was beyond him. If the boy thought he was going to be entertaining him in any way, and gracing him with any undeserved pleasantries, then he was to be disappointed.

''If you choose to exhaust yourself further by reading to such a late hour, that is your decision.''

Harry nodded, knowing that this was as generous as Snape was going to get. ''Thank you, professor.''

Snape inclined his head. Harry's presence wasn't always a burden. ''But still, Potter... Grant me an explanation void of distractions. Why are you not sleeping?''

Harry opened his mouth and closed it again uncertainly. Snape raised an eyebrow, curious as to what answer would be given.

''Couldn't sleep,'' Harry muttered finally, flicking open his book and reading the words without taking anything in. He could feel Snape's eyes burning into the side of his face, knowing his lie had been completely transparent.

Snape didn't say anything further, however, and they fell into comfortable silence.

Gradually turning his attention away from Harry, Snape replayed his recent conversation with Dumbledore through his mind.

However, it was not long before a constant shuffling in his peripheral vision became far too consistent to ignore. He was forced to lay his more pressing thoughts to the side to distract his restless student. The book was obviously not holding his interest.

''So...eavesdropping again, Potter?'' Snape raised an eyebrow, resignation in his tone. ''I trust you heard enough of my conversation with the headmaster to riddle yourself with questions. Ask them now if you cannot even sustain the concentration to read effectively.''

It would save him a lot of headache later if the boy would get this off his chest now. A troubled mind would only lead him into further troubled sleep, and Snape preferred Harry alert for his lessons.

Harry nodded in relief, glad that Snape had changed his mind. He was far too curious about the headmaster to think about anything else. ''What did Professor Dumbledore mean exactly? He said something about a prophecy...''

This was obviously what Snape had been dreading. He gave the boy a weary look, feeling a fresh wave of annoyance with the headmaster. He didn't know who he was irritated with more in this whole mess. Dumbledore for leaving him with this damn burden that shouldn't even be his, him for letting it happen or Potter... Potter for simply being Potter. He should have known he would be listening at the door.

''It is nothing that concerns you. Not everything involves-'' he attempted to dismiss the subject.

''Liar,'' Harry cut him off mid sentence, his eyes narrowing. ''It _is_ about me. I heard you. There's some kind of prophecy about me isn't there?''

''You shall not speak of it,'' Snape hissed, silencing him. ''Not in such a careless tone. You have no idea wha-''

''Then tell me what it is,'' Harry said simply. ''I have a right to know, don't I? And Dumbledore_ did_ give you permission to tell me…''

''I fear, Mr. Potter, that Professor Dumbledore is not himself at present.''

''Sir, please. I want to know,'' Harry argued. For once he wanted answers. Keeping things from him had never proved beneficial in the past. ''How can _you_ know and I not when it's about _me_? How is that fair?''

''And don't give me the lecture on life isn't fair,'' Harry added much more loudly, as Snape opened his mouth to interrupt. ''It doesn't make it right, and you know it.''

A ghost of a smile passed across Snape's face and he looked for a moment at Harry with a raised eyebrow, mildly amused. Maybe some of what he was saying was finally actually beginning to rub off on the boy.

There was certainly some familiarity in the way they spoke that hadn't been there before, which could only be derived from being forced to spend such lengths of time together.

This greater understanding of each other took some of the spite from their usual verbal fencing and, as much as Snape hated to admit it, it increased his enjoyment with talking to the boy. It certainly reduced the misunderstandings of which they were so fond, and allowed them both to lower their guard a fraction in each other's presence, something that, only a few weeks ago, he would have opposed with every ounce of strength he had.

''You said it yourself, Snape, I'm not a kid anymore,'' Harry continued seriously, a look in his eye that Snape had come know. The boy was not going to give in. Nothing he could now say would deter him from what he wanted to know. Not with something this important.

Snape pinched the bridge of his nose, letting his curtains of hair fall across his face, obscuring his vision. ''No, Potter you are surely no child. They at least would know how to use one's title_ correctly_. If you fail to address me in the proper manner one more time-''

''Sorry, _sir_,'' Harry said quickly, with an impatient wave of his hand. ''But if it's about me, I want to know. It's important isn't it? Or you wouldn't take it so seriously.''

Snape sighed, despairing of ever teaching the boy any sense of proper conduct. Damn Potter when he was determined, but he couldn't berate him for simply being stubborn. It was a characteristic of Harry's he was becoming more and more acquainted with.

''I do not deny its importance,'' he said carefully. ''What I do question, however, is your capability to deal with the consequences of such knowledge.''

''What do you mean?'' Harry frowned.

''What I mean, Mr. Potter, may very well go above your understanding, as happens with most of what I say to you,'' Snape snapped impatiently.

Harry rolled his eyes before crossing his arms, waiting. He saw indecision in Snape's eyes, a rare thing, and that was enough to give him the courage to prod the man, as much as he could, into telling him what he needed to know.

Snape scowled harshly, but Harry didn't flinch. He merely raised his eyebrows confidently, awaiting a sufficient explanation. Snape shook his head despairingly, wondering when, and exactly why, he'd become less intimidating to the damn boy.

Irritably, he asked himself how come it didn't bother him more that he was slowly losing his power of intimidation over Harry. He was becoming more familiar, he realised, as he had earlier when the boy curled up in his chair so fearlessly.

He convinced himself it was tiredness and disinterest that kept him from shouting himself hoarse for such cheek, though, if he were honest, he'd admit that he was enjoying semi-civil conversation, and the lack of hostility in the air, far too much to risk upsetting it now over something so trivial.

''Carrying the weight of a prophecy, this one in particular, on your shoulders will be no easy task. The duty it will demand of you cannot be taken lightly,'' he answered finally, remaining cautious, not sure yet as to exactly how much he was willing to tell Harry about this.

''Duty?''

''Indeed. The headmaster does not believe you are ready to become aware of your destiny.''

''Do_ you_ think I am ready?'' Harry asked, curious as to the answer.

''I do not think one could ever be _ready_ for such a burden as this,'' Snape answered after a significant pause in which he could feel Harry's less than subtle attempts to analyse him. ''Least of all one as young as you. If you are asking me whether you _should _know, I have no doubt that you must. How otherwise can it be asked of you to fulfil it?''

''Then tell me!'' Harry said loudly, his voice dangerously close to a whine, displaying the much more childish immature side of himself, the side Snape liked the least. ''I will find out sooner or later anyway!''

Snape made a noise between a sigh and a hiss. He turned sharply away from Harry, and began pacing up and down in an irritated manner. The boy was strong minded, he'd give him that.

Harry was right, however, as much as he hated to admit it. He _did_ have a right to know, and soon. Snape's problem was stealing himself to reveal it. It would take a great measure of care and control on his part to explain such a delicate secret; one so private that he himself should not even know.

Though if there was ever a prophecy about him, if he were ever to be that important, he'd want to know. How could anyone not want to know their life's secrets? He knew Harry couldn't face the Dark Lord not knowing what he must do... how it must end.

Harry James Potter _was_ the 'Chosen One,' there was no doubt about it. Hell, half the wizzarding world already suspected something of the sort. The only one who seemed blissfully ignorant was the saviour himself.

But Harry was under so much pressure already what with occlumency and his other lessons, Snape certainly didn't want to add to his worries. This was surely the same thoughts that made Dumbledore hesitate, but deceptions would certainly only cause more pain, and there was quite enough of that already. This would not be an easy burden for Harry to bear and Snape almost felt sorry for the boy. He didn't deserve this. No one did. Never had so much been asked of one person.

''You wish to know the prophecy, Potter?'' he asked finally. He could have just as easily denied the boy the answers he so desperately sought, and left Dumbledore to deal with this. But he knew he couldn't do that. Not anymore. He owed it to Harry to tell him; he'd earnt it.

Harry nodded quickly, shifting forward so that he was perched on the very edged of his seat, eager to hear every word Snape would give him.

''Then you must give me your word that it will not affect your remaining studies in any way. If you believe you are ready, then I will not be held accountable for a dramatic response. I will not tolerate poor performance if you find yourself unable to handle the knowledge of your fate,'' Snape warned with every sincerity.

Harry swallowed, feeling the slight fluttering of nerves in his stomach.

''I promise.''

Snape looked down at him for a long moment, knowing there would be no going back if he chose to do this. He swept his cloak back, taking the seat opposite the boy.

He had made his decision, though he was taking a chance here in deciding that Harry was ready. For some unexplained reason, his senses told him that this had to be done, one way or another and that if he didn't do it now, he'd only find further excuses not to later. He clasped carefully the arms of the chair with his long slender fingers, his back ramrod straight and his marble eyes fixed on Harry.

''Then listen carefully,'' he began, his voice silky and smooth as if he himself was the prophecy barer, releasing its secrets, telling its story as if it had always been made for him to tell, ''For this whole _fiasco_ begins many years before you, Mr. Potter, even came into existence…''

----

A good hour later, Snape had told Harry all he knew of the prophecy connecting him and Voldemort. Harry had asked the odd question here and there during his explanation, most of which Snape had answered to his greatest capability, but mostly he just sat listening with rapt attention, his intense green eyes never once leaving the potion master's face.

As distracting as Snape found this, he didn't discourage Harry's thirst for knowledge, for he never once paid attention to his classes in this way. Maybe for once he'd learn something, and a big something it was.

Predictably, Snape failed quite deliberately to account for the part where he'd been the death eater to relay to Voldemort the very existence of the prophecy, and thereby brought about the death of Harry's parents. He wasn't ready to be that honest. He probably never would.

Thick silence ended Snape's explanation. Harry's eyes scanned the older man's face, searching for a lie, for a trick, but he found none. He dropped his eyes, finally knowing the truth. So, this is what Dumbledore had kept from him all these years. This was the reason for all of it, for everything...

Snape eyed him carefully through narrow, curious eyes. Harry wasn't breaking down or in hysterics yet, which he took as a good sign. He just sat there, a small frown creasing his face, trying to work out how he felt.

Snape leant back, watching with growing intrigue, the strong emotions that passed, as unguarded as ever, across the boy's steadily paling face.

''What do you understand by what I have told you tonight, Potter?'' he asked finally, attempting to draw Harry out of himself slightly to get a reaction.

''One of us will have to kill the other…in the end?'' Harry answered thoughtfully, hesitantly glancing up for unwelcome confirmation.

Snape nodded impassively, effectively confirming his worst fears. ''Or so the prophecy states.''

''And prophecies are always right?'' Harry asked, hoping to god there had been some mistake, and this child it spoke of was not him, but some other unfortunate young wizard.

''Prophecies are just that, Potter; _prophecies,_'' Snape clarified, relaxing slightly now that he knew the boy wasn't immediately going to do something stupid. ''Nothing less, nothing more. Whether or not its premonitions come to pass is entirely down to the individuals to which it is assigned. You could very well catch some contagious, untreatable disease and die tomorrow…Where would that leave the prophecy then?''

Harry contemplated this. No matter how he looked at it, from whatever angle, it all came down to the same thing in the end… '_Neither can live while the other survives'_…It was him or Voldemort. Either way it would all end in a death. He was to be a murderer or murdered himself.

He was not surprised at what Snape had told him. If he'd have had to guess what the prophecy was, it would have been something similar to this, though never this conclusive.

Before he'd always technically had the choice of what dangerous escapades he took part in, this prophecy just threw all that out the window. His destiny was fixed, unchangeable. Harry swallowed. He was going to die.

''Speak your mind,'' Snape said, breaking gently into his thoughts. ''It may be an assistance...''

Harry considered, his headache returned tenfold, how to put his complicated, sensitive thoughts into words. Snape had listened to him before, when he'd spoken about the Dursley's... Perhaps he would be reasonable again. Harry needed someone to talk to, now more than ever, and was recklessly willing to take that chance.

''I've sort of known all along…I mean I always knew I'd have to fight him, in the end,'' he admitted. ''Dumbledore's always made that pretty clear, in his own way. This just kind of makes it more... final, I guess.''

''Nothing is ever final, Potter,'' Snape said, surprised at how mature Harry was behaving in reaction to this. ''Only your actions from now on will determine the future, not the prophecy. It is in _your_ hands.''

Harry opened his mouth to respond but a million thoughts were thrown at him all at once, and he'd no idea where to begin.

''None of this matters anyway,'' he said finally, rubbing a hand over his face wearily. ''I _can't_ do it. What kind of match am _I_ to _Voldemort_? The prophecy must have it wrong somewhere. I could never-''

''You weren't chosen by chance,'' Snape said sternly, cutting him off. ''The Dark Lord did not turn up at_ your _house that night after some random selection of infant wizards sharing your birthday. '_He will have powers the Dark Lord knows not.'_ Do you know what this means, Potter?''

Harry shook his head.

Snape frowned, examining the boy before him. He'd wondered also, time after time, what this boy had that could rival the powers of the Dark Lord. He was after all just a teenager, as foolish and flawed as any other. Maybe not so mediocre, he had to admit, and more mature, capable, resourceful and headstrong than most, not to mention ridiculously brave, but capable of destroying Lord Voldemort? Only a fool would view such farfetched fantasies with any sense of hope.

''Do _you_?'' Harry asked when Snape didn't elaborate further.

''I confess, I do not,'' Snape replied quietly, running a finger delicately over his bottom lip thoughtfully. ''Though it proves that the Dark Lord's actions were no accident, and that the fates at least believe that you have a chance of survival. I believe the headmaster has a few ideas as to the exact purpose and meaning of this hidden power that you must possess, each as fanciful as the next, I have no doubt.''

''None of which he has shared with me,'' he continued as Harry predictably began to ask what these were. ''I am as mystified as you, Potter. 'Power' is not a word that I would personally use to describe you.''

Snape almost regretted saying this, however true it was. Harry's confidence was lacking and, as the boy's shoulders sagged further, he realised he was not helping, and that he probably should be.

''Though I am sure, now that you have the foundations, the headmaster will fill you in on the rest, and create a clearer picture than I am able to,'' he said, in the hope of redeeming himself slightly. ''In a letter perhaps if he does not wish to offer you the courtesy of eye contact.''

They shared a rare look of understanding, both matched in their concern for the headmaster. They both turned their thoughts inward for a while, silence surrounding them once more.

Harry cleared his throat as a sudden thought occurred to him, regaining his mentor's attention. ''This training...'' he muttered. Snape's eyes flicked up to meet his own enquiringly, silently permitting him to ask his question. ''You're training me to kill Voldemort. I thought it was to _defend_ myself...'' Harry swallowed thickly, cursing himself for his stupidity. He suddenly felt very sick as realisation dawned. Maybe he was more naive than he thought. ''You're training me to be a... murderer.''

Snape's eyes were intense as they scrutinized Harry, and he didn't say anything for a long while. He could hardly deny that, when it came down to it, was exactly what they were doing. The atmosphere between them grew rapidly awkward in his silence, as he failed to contradict this statement.

With a small grim nod of acceptance, Harry went back to staring at the floor, his lips set in a thin line as he thought this over.

Struck by a sudden suspicion that Dumbledore had left him in this position purposefully, Snape felt his headache remerge. Could the older man have known that Harry was at the door listening, and that this discussion would inevitably follow? He snarled and the word 'coward' ran harshly through his mind, directed at a man he'd always thought a true Gryffindor.

This wasn't his fault, but he'd bear the brunt of Harry Potter's emotions as always. He'd known the time would come when Harry Potter would have to know his destiny, but never had he thought _he'd_ be the one to break the damn news, nor had he counted on caring this much as to how the boy was told and, unbelievably, his feelings. He chose his next words with great care.

''I do not deny that it is the headmaster's wish that you are to fulfil the prophecy,'' he began. ''Though his sentiments for you, Potter, as you well know, are far above, as you suggest, such...''

''Disregard of _me _the person?'' Harry supplied, his voice uncharacteristically bitter. ''All Dumbledore cares about is my scar.''

There it was. He'd been thinking it for so long and it had finally come out. Somehow it felt harsher and much colder now that he had said it, though no less true. He swallowed uncomfortably, his throat very dry and restricted.

Snape's hands whitened further where they clenched the arms of the chair as the boy's face crumpled, despite his obvious efforts to remain composed. A sudden unexpected swarm of dislike for the headmaster encompassed him, and for some unknown reason, after all the past years of envying their relationship, he found himself hurting at the loss of it, just as Harry did, as if his pain was his own.

''His primary concern, _our_ primary concern,'' he explained, forcing his tone to be neutral and his face impassive against the new unexpected emotions that unsteadied him. ''...Is that you succeed in destroying the Dark Lord. That is why you are here training. Of course, defending yourself and your own personal...wellbeing...'' He paused, grimacing slightly. Dumbledore had definitely failed on that count in the past

''...Is also a concern we share, but Professor Dumbledore has to see the bigger picture.''

Harry opened his mouth speechlessly. Is that what he was, just a tool to rid the world of Voldemort? Was that his role in life? Is that why Dumbledore didn't want to speak to him? He didn't think he would succeed? He didn't want to get any more attached when he knew he would die, was that it?

The fact was, Dumbledore knew this task would very well take his life and he was putting Harry through it nevertheless. He wasn't even looking for another option. As ever, Snape had stated it as bluntly and plain as it was, offering no measure of sugar with his harsh truths.

''And what about _you_?'' Harry croaked, his previous bravery fading. Snape's opinion suddenly became very important, as his anger and bitterness grew. ''Do you see the _bigger picture_?''

''Don't make this about me, Potter,'' Snape replied immediately, eyes narrowing. ''I was not a willing accomplice in this little scheme if you remember. I had no wish to take you-''

''Oh, I remember...You remind me very well everyday-'' Harry scowled, his temper rising, though Dumbledore was the one he wanted to be yelling at, not Snape.

''If all you are planning on doing is throwing immature, snide remarks, Potter, I suggest you go to bed-''

''What if I don't want to kill Voldemort?'' Harry asked quietly, his face an ugly expression. ''What if I don't want to follow this stupid prophecy that _may_ or _may not_ even work in my favour?!''

Snape promptly raised his eyebrows. ''And who would kill the Dark Lord then?'' he asked simply. He knew he had to be harsh. How else could he get Harry to understand? It had to be him! There was no one else who could take his place. It was to be Harry or no one, no matter what he or anyone else thought about it.

''What if I don't care?'' Harry asked, again challenging Snape. He knew he was being unreasonable and proving that he was not dealing with this knowledge as well as it first appeared, but he didn't care. He was fed up with playing Dumbledore's puppet, and tired with trying to hide how he really felt all the time. He _was_ only a kid. What did they really expect of him?

''Ah, but you _do_ care Harry,'' Snape answered softly, recognition and understanding now on his face as Harry's fear finally erupted, as he'd expected. ''It is your most fatal flaw. You care far _too_ much. It is one of the many unfortunate shortcomings that make you such a lamentable occlumens.''

Harry frowned, he could feel the anger boiling up inside of him at the injustice, at the responsibility, at the burden...It was only increased further by the fact that Snape understood all of it. He knew that he was afraid. How could he not? And Harry couldn't hide it, as much as he wanted to. Maybe he couldn't handle this after all...

''I just don't-'' Harry begun, voice rising, but once again Snape knew exactly what he was thinking.

''Of course you don't,'' he cut him off sharply, determined to pull Harry from his anxiety and depression now that he'd seen the courage he was capable of when dealing with this. ''The world is full of the injustice that so plagues your very existence. If you are shocked at that, Potter you have been leading a far more naive life than I imagined.''

Harry scowled. ''I know perfectly well-''

''Then you _know _that you cannot afford liberties such as selfishness that your fellow classmates are so free to indulge in. You are a marked man, Potter! Your destiny was predetermined before you were even born. Whether you feel up to the task is of no concern. Whether you succeed is of no concern. Whether you choose the path marked out for you is what matters. That choice is down to you, and you alone. Neither I nor Dumbledore can make that decision for you.''

''You already did,'' Harry muttered. He was here wasn't he? He was already in the middle of his training. When exactly was Dumbledore planning on telling him?

''Then walk out of the door now, Potter,'' Snape said, knowing he must give him this opportunity. The headmaster may not believe it, but he knew Harry had to be doing this because he believed in it. ''Go now, I will not stop you. Leave, if that is what you desire.''

Harry gripped the arms of his chair tightly, the temptation to do just that overwhelming him. How easy life would be if he walked away now. No more pain. No more suffering. No more of this damn hard training. He sighed heavily. Why did Snape keep doing this to him? Making him choose...

''Well, Potter?'' Snape snapped, his own heart beating rapidly in his chest, wondering as to what Harry would do. This would be a true test of the boy's character.

Harry swallowed. Ron and Hermione's faces appeared at the front of his mind...What would happen to them if he deserted them now? And the Weasley's... Sirius...Hogwarts? Harry closed his eyes. Who was he if he didn't have them? What would there be worth living for?

''I can't...'' he whispered, scrunching his face up as though his words caused him great pain. ''I know what I have to do...''

''And what's that, Harry?'' Snape asked softly, the boy's first name rolling off his tongue unexpectedly with no conscious effort of his own. ''What must you do?''

''What's right.'' Harry looked up and gave him a small sad smile which somehow affected Snape more than he would have liked. ''I don't think I've ever had a choice. Not really…'' he muttered, his anger replaced by weariness once more which in many ways was much worse. Snape was right. He did care immensely and that was why, when so many others would have walked away, he knew he couldn't. It was therefore his own personality, his own heart that kept him trapped, kept him fighting, not the prophecy.

Snape felt relief at Harry's response; he hadn't disappointed him. He'd so wanted Harry, for some insane reason, to be this person he was slowly starting to hope that he was; one capable of saving his life.

''Then I, in turn, shall do all in my power to train you the aim of reaching that goal,'' he murmured with a small inclination of his head. ''We shall not concern ourselves, at present, with our chance of success.'' He refused to give the boy false hope. It would not help either of them.

Convincing Harry had not been easy, but Snape could hardly blame the boy for his immediate attitude towards such a prophecy. What teenager would want to give up their life to fulfil such a destiny, when there were so many other opportunities out there to tempt them? Harry's youth had already been sorely distorted by his history. Who knew just what horrific plans the future had in store for him? The sacrifices that he'd have to make would be immeasurable.

Yet his selfless bravery and final complete acceptance of what was not so much asked but expected of him, simply astounded and reluctantly impressed the older wizard. Harry knew exactly what he had to do and he was staring it in the face, not something many fifth year Gryffindor's could have shown. Maybe Harry wasn't so ignorant after all. There was much more to this boy than first met the eye.

Harry almost missed the look of appraisal that lightened Snape's eyes for just a split second, but couldn't ignore the small glow that it ignited inside of him. The older man eyed the teen before him with a new measure of respect, not given lightly by the potions master by any means.

''You are a true Gryffindor, Potter,'' he said suddenly, with more conviction and sincerity than he knew he could direct towards this particular person.

''Is that meant to be a compliment?'' Harry asked with a small wry smile, surprised at the obvious contrast between Snape's words and his tone. Severus Snape, resolute head of Slytherin house, compliment a Gryffindor? The thought that maybe he could make Severus Snape even the tiniest bit proud, made Harry feel a terrifying mix of emotions.

Snape held back a small smile of his own at Harry's surprise. ''It is simply fact.''

They spoke late into the night. Snape stayed, growing in confidence as they discussed the prophecy further, for which Harry was very grateful.

Snape had never considered the possibility of ever being in the situation when it would be required of him to speak to Harry of his destiny quite in this way. He was being forced to inadvertently comfort and console him when, having always been opposed the very idea of Harry Potter as their saviour, was no easy task.

However, now that the situation had come about and his aversion was not as strong as it once was, he found it remarkably natural reaction.

The unexpected support that Harry received made the news much easier to bear somehow. Snape's straightforward, honest and somewhat intensely serious attitude to everything kept him strong and practical; it kept him from crumbling and shrinking into himself like it would have been so easy to do. He was not sympathetic but understanding, and showed his encouragement in his own elusive way. Harry would be eternity grateful for tonight, no matter if Snape forced him into a marathon of mind numbing occlumency the next day. This was a side of the man that he would remember.

As Harry's stifled yawns became a disrupting recurrence, Snape insisted he finally return to his rooms. They had lessons the next day after all.

Harry stood up obligingly, stretching widely, totally exhausted. ''Thank you, sir,'' he smiled sleepily, for once not giving regard to the fact that his show of appreciation would not be returned. He felt closer to Snape right now than he ever had. It was a strange, yet not wholly unpleasant feeling.

''There is no need to thank me, Potter,'' Snape replied, also standing to regard Harry for a moment, seeing him for the first time as something other than an ignorant child. He could have said so many things in that moment, if he'd been a more open man, but of course he wasn't, and Harry accepted that.

''Any further queries...or thoughts you may have, relating to the prophecy and training of course...feel at liberty to share them with me,'' he continued stiffly before he could think too much about his offer, uncomfortable with the strange look Harry was giving him, as though he'd sprouted an extra head, ''I am your mentor, therefore your emotional security, as well as your academic improvement, is my responsibility.''

Harry nodded, resisting the urge to smile again. Was that all? Just a responsibility? He wondered vaguely, with a strange feeling in his gut, as to whether if Snape had the choice, he'd give him up now like he'd been so ready to do a few weeks ago. Would he himself go happily if Dumbledore himself volunteered to take him?

Harry didn't like to consider the answers to those questions; he wouldn't jeopardise this new fragile understanding that had miraculously developed between him and Snape. It was important to him, more so than he would ever have predicted.

Harry gave him a tentative smile, he couldn't help it, the moment was so surreal and he knew it wouldn't last. Maybe he was reading too much into Snape's actions in his desperation for some sort of relationship.

Snape's lips did not twitch, giving nothing away, though his eyes softened marginally in response to Harry's small gesture. Harry had learnt that look. It wasn't hatred...and it wasn't disgust or resentment...it had to be good.

Snape inclined his head suddenly, breaking eye contact with a small nod, dismissing Harry and ending their conversation.

Harry grabbed his book and hurried from the library, wanting more than anything to feel the warmth and comfort of his bed where sleep would finally claim him, and he'd be alone to sort out his confused thoughts.

''You are not alone, Harry.'' A soft, almost non-existent murmur, reached Harry's ears, though he expected the promise was meant to be private, and therefore, he didn't turn and question Snape on it.

Harry grinned to himself, warmth filling him at all the possible meanings these words could have. Snape didn't need to smile or show any other sort of sentiment to show he cared, and Harry was _sure_ he cared, or was at least beginning to.

Re-entering his bedroom as dawn approached swiftly over the horizon, Harry was, for the first time, glad to be with Snape. His words ran through Harry's head and he tried to work out what they meant. 'He was not alone.' He knew what he wanted them to mean.

He'd got his conversation, even if it hadn't been of the simple, light hearted normality that he would have wanted. He also hadn't forgotten how Snape had kept his word and protected his secret from Dumbledore, even when he himself didn't agree with it. He wasn't so bad, not really. You just had to accept him for what he was.

There was a man in there, Harry accepted for the first time; a person. Snape wasn't just the devil incarnate. The world was not after all simply black and white, he finally understood that. Good and bad weren't so easily defined.

But, he thought with a small grimace as he pulled himself into bed, Snape would still expect him down to breakfast ridiculously early, despite the fact it was only a few hours away and he'd yet to sleep.


	13. The Second Task

---

Harry felt as though his head had barely hit the pillow when he was being abruptly awoken by his alarm spell, taught to him by Snape, apparently to cure him of his inability to master the importance of precise timekeeping.

He groaned loudly at the intrusion to his brief, much needed sleep. Drawing up the remainder of his self-discipline, he hauled his complaining body from the comfort of the warm bed, and pulled on his clothes randomly with heavy arms.

He dressed deliberately slowly, memories from the previous night flooding his reluctantly waking mind. It took him a moment to recognise the coil of nerves in his stomach and attach meaning to them.

Sinking back onto the mattress, Harry recalled his conversation with Snape the previous night and felt a chill emcompass him. He was scared, he couldn't deny that. The knowledge of his destiny would bring unimaginable weight to his every step with its implications.

However, he would have little time to dwell on, seeing as his training currently demanded the majority of his attention. He couldn't allow himself to be side-tracked by the prophecy, which had already been confirmed to be potentially inaccurate. Something told him Snape would provide plently tiring distractions.

Yawning, Harry ignored the probing memory of his latest nightmare. He was sick of waking up every morning so unrested. What relaxation he did achieve was so limited, and restlessly fitful, it was hardly satisfying. It was becoming steadily worse with each session of occlumency and he knew it would only be a matter of time before he was completely overwhelmed by fatigue.

He'd managed to keep the nightmares secret from Snape so far with the aid of various spells, not that he suspected Snape would find much interest in these dreams, but he still feared the man discovering the extent to which they plagued him. It would undoubtedly be regarded as a weakness and worthy of punishment.

----

''I wish to make a few subtle changes to our schedule, Mr. Potter,'' where Snape's first words when Harry entered the kitchen a few minutes later, looking like absolute hell. Huge dark circles bagged his bloodshot eyes and he stepped as though every movement required a great effort.

Harry sat down gingerly on a chair, the smell of food quickly infiltrating his every sense.

Snape glanced up at him from his newspaper as he spoke, swiftly taking in his dishevelled appearance, but made no comment. He'd warned the boy last night about the consequences of lack of sleep.

But Harry was glad that he'd stayed up with Snape, despite the consequences. His late night would erase any suspicion that may have derived from his ill appearance. Snape would not suspect vivid nightmares and put his entire weariness down to their discussion and his training.

Harry's attention, however, was quickly diverted to the table before him, and away from his current worries. Snape had outdone himself this morning it seemed, with the amount of delicious food he'd prepared. Harry made an appreciative sound before loading bacon, eggs and anything else he could reach onto his plate.

Snape quirked an eyebrow as Harry began wolfing down his breakfast at top speed, as though it would vanish at any moment. It was a good job he hadn't slept last night either, or he might not have produced such plentiful food in his attempt to distract himself from his more troubling thoughts.

''You really have no sense of decorum do you, Potter?'' he remarked lightly, his thin lips quirking in reluctant amusement at the boy's apparent ravenousness. ''Anyone would think I failed to feed you.''

Harry looked up, grumbled something incoherent. He gave a small, apologetic shrug before returning his attention back to the much more important task at hand.

''As I was saying…'' Snape continued with a despairing glance at his student, ''from today, I shall begin appointing homework in addition to your practicing occlumency -'' He was cut off by Harry spraying food out all over his table.

''What?'' Harry spluttered unattractively, suddenly wide awake. _''Homework_? But we're not even at school! You can't!..._Every_ day?''

Snape gave him a disgusted look. ''I refuse to look at you when you have food covering your face,'' he said simply, folding his arms and leaning back with unconcealed impatience.

Harry quickly wiped his mouth with his sleeve, his face flaming. Snape, taking pity, rolled his eyes at the clumbsy display and handed him a napkin.

''Honestly, Potter,'' he muttered, reclaiming his newspaper with dignity after a cleaning spell. ''Your table manners could rival that of a baboon.''

''Sorry, sir,'' Harry winced, though was relieved to find that his mentor did not seem too displeased with him. In fact, aside from looking very tired, Snape seemed almost in a relatively neutral mood; a bonus for Harry. He made to hand Snape back the napkin, but re-thought his actions when met with a stony glare of disapproval.

Harry cleared his throat and stuffed the cloth into his pocket, as Snape watched with a pained expression. With great effort, he refrained from saying anything biting, and addressed the boy like an adult, with the hope that in doing so, Harry would revert to the mature, almost pleasant manner he'd been capable of last night and save him further headache.

''You did, indeed, hear me correctly. Your idiocy has not yet had a negative effect on your hearing. I shall begin assigning homework in an attempt to speed up your slow progression. Daily.''

''Yes, sir,'' Harry grumbled, attacking his sausage with agression.

The boy's eating habits were positively revolting. He ate more than anyone Snape knew, yet he was as thin as a rake. This fact alone refrained him from disciplinary action. Depriving Harry of food would not satisfy his impatience to see the boy fill out a little.

''Ketchup?'' Harry asked suddenly, glancing around the table.

Snape's lip curled, his eyebrows screwing together agressively, transfiguring his expression into one of acute horror. ''Whatever would you require with such a foul, childish substance?''

Harry, giving Snape a strange look, barely had the energy to argue. He'd teach Snape the importance of ketchup another day. He was too used to smothering his aunt's bland, undercooked meals with the topping to not crave it occassionally.

Snape did not press the matter when Harry shrugged carelessly. Shaking his head, he disappeared behind his paper and did his best to ignore the boy, as always.

If Harry had dared eat so informally a week ago, and taken the liberty to request extra than what he'd already been presented, he would have been back upstairs with an extremely sore behind. Snape grunted, slightly more loudly than he'd intended, his hands tightening around the paper, in approval of his own thoughts.

Harry snorted gently in amusement at Snape's unconscious gestures and settled back to watch. If he were careful enough to make his attentions go unnoticed, he found much satisfaction in trying to decipher the tiny flickers of thought and feeling that crossed Snape's face as he read the paper; one of the rare moments he was temporarily unguarded.

Murmuring descretely, Snape admitted silently that it pleased him to see the boy less tense and on edge, just as it had on various occasions over the last few days. It was much less of a headache to be in close confines with Harry when he was less prone to scathing remarks, though he had agree that this too had its amusements.

Harry almost became a different person when he wasn't on his guard the whole time, and raking through that utter mess of a mind to find some blind insult to through back at his mentor. He wasn't in all an unpleasant person to be with, at least when Snape was in a decent enough mood to appreciate it.

''Salt?''

Snape, very slowly, lowered the paper from in front of his face, his eyes narrowed. ''Excuse me?''

Harry cleared his throat, reminded of manners by the danger in Snape's tone. ''Could you please pass me the salt, professor?''

Snape's eyes glinted, irritated at being interrupted. A thin smile of mock politeness aged his face prematurely. ''Actually, Mr. Potter, I had just, as you spoke, decided to indulge in a little salt myself.''

''But you have hardly touched your breakfast-'' Harry protested but Snape had already grasped the holder and sprinkled a liberal amount of salt onto his cold, untouched eggs. So much in fact that there was none left for Harry.

Not that he'd any intention whatsoever of eating. Snape merely wished to piss the boy of, as petty revenge for his disrespectful manners, and penance for his own positive thoughts about the boy. He was aware his actions contradicted his desire to be at peace with Harry, but as he remained unsettled with such a decision, he found himself unable to refrain from shaking things around a little. Old habbits die hard.

As he'd intended, he felt far more at ease with himself for accepting he enjoyed the boy's company, on rare occassion, when the teenager, predictably, began to sulk, narrowing his eyes at his teacher.

Shaking his head, almost in disbelief at Snape's immaturity, Harry devoured the remainder of his saltless breakfast with exaggerated grace.

Biting his tongue, Snape feigned interest in an atricle. Spreading the text out across the table, he ensured, subtly, that the boy would see what he was reading. _'Harry Potter: On drugs or born crackers_?'

He could practically hear the boy's teeth grind across the table.

To prefer Harry in a good mood meant that he, Severus Snape, enjoyed the boy's company, which he rarely did with anyone, and to be accepting of Harry Potter was completely unnacceptable.

Therefore, in disregard of his own rejection of the desire to be decent towards the boy, Snape emphasised his snarkiness and utter unfair attitude in order to make himself more comfortable. He would not have Harry deciphering any favourable acts, as a signal that Snape liked him.

Much to his irritation, Harry had his tongue well trained and appeared almost relaxed.

It disconcerted Snape greatly to consider that Harry was actually starting to feel he could be himself, and not cower in defiant, stubborn silence, as he had not so long ago, due to the intimidation of his surroundings. It was an even greater disturbance to acknowledge that he, Severus Snape, was becoming that familiar to the boy.

The events of the last few weeks had changed his perception of Harry dramatically; their deep discussions about the boy's miserable childhood, of the prophecy and their work with the training was edging them closer.

Snape was finding it increasingly hard to be unnecessarily cruel to the boy after all he'd heard and seen, especially with the state Harry was in now. And therefore, naturally, he was fighting to behave in a way entirely opposite to what his heart was telling him.

He'd have to watch these changes closely and ensure that he could retain an act of cold indifference, full force, once Harry was not so incredibly weary, and strong enough to endure it again. Snape had no intention of being anything less than a downright burden to the boy once this was all over, even if he allowed himself to rein in some of his hostility for the timebeing.

If the boy didn't die first that was. Now, wouldn't that make things so much easier, Snape thought, as he brought his coffee mug to his lips and drank deeply.

This comfortable sense of calm at his table, however, was something he could get used to, even if a mutual understanding with the boy was out of the question. Any unfounded callousness he felt towards Harry was disintegrating each day of its own will, and he supposed, reluctantly, his ability to effectively proke the boy would wither along with it.

Although he had finally learned to appreciate the boy, he wondered as to his ability to actually give in and relent to such a dramatic change of heart. He doubted with everything that he was that he could ever, god forbid, come to _like_ the boy any more than he was gradually coming to. If this was the extent to which their relationship was shifting, he could handle it. What were a few less insults hurled each day? A bit less broken furniture... He was not worried. Not yet.

''What will the homework be on then?'' Harry asked, unknowingly breaking into Snape's irritated internal ramblings.

''Would you care to rephrase that, Potter?'' Snape snapped, deflecting his eyes so the boy would not see his dilemma.

''What will the homework be set on, sir?'' Harry cleared his throat and asked much more politely.

''Better. It shall concern anything that I or, if you are to cooperate, _we_ deem appropriate. It is time for you to take more of a responsibility in your learning. You shall know better than I what your weaknesses are.''

Harry sincerely doubted this; no one could pick holes in a person like Snape could.

''Along with this,'' he continued to Harry's dismay, ''I may simply set a research task or an essay on the day's work. It shall depend entirely on your performance.''

Harry nodded without enthusiasm, knowing there was no way out of this. He did remember however his promise to himself to work harder. He would do whatever Snape said.

''I understand.''

''Good, now finish your breakfast. I have prepared a task for this morning that I think you shall find…satisfying.''

Harry gave him a questioning look but Snape simply raised an eyebrow, flicking his newspaper to a neutral topic and disappearing behind it.

* * *

Snape led Harry, as customary, down to the training room when Harry had eaten all that he could. If Harry hadn't known better, he would have said Snape was enjoying himself, if the slight curve to his thin lips was anything to go by. There was definitely less waves of hatred being thrown his way this morning which, even if he didn't know why, he was very grateful for.

Harry questioned him further on the task ahead, enjoying the blunt, irritated responses he would get as Snape remained determined not to give anything away.

''Don't want to spoil the surprise do we, Potter?'' he said sarcastically, but Harry saw through the fake bordem to the anticipation and possible enthisiasm that hid behind his closed features.

Snape quickened his pace and so did Harry, intrigued as to what this lesson would be, though he hoped that it would not require anything too strenuous of him as he was exhausted already.

When Snape finally opened the door, the training room looked more spectacular, and more unreal than Harry had ever had the pleasure of seeing it.

''Wha…'' His mouth dropped open of its own accord and he openly gawped in disbelief.

Snape smirked, pleased at his reaction. It wasn't often the boy was left speechless; it made for a pleasant change.

''Is your interest successfully peaked, Potter?'' he asked, watching the awe struck expressions dart unguarded across Harry's face and deciding it was not in all an unpleasant thing to witness. It made a change from resigned stress and boredom that he was usually faced with at the start of every lesson.

He shook his head slightly to remove the approval that he felt for this more healthy emotional response from Harry. He had to remind himself firmly that he hated the boy, and his emotions were of no concern to him when they didn't need to be, for the sake of educational progress.

''Absolutely,'' Harry breathed, treading past Snape so he could see further into the room.

They were standing in the midst of what looked like a quidditch pitch, matching that of the world cup stadium in size, at least. There was just one major difference. This pitch was covered in what seemed to be dense rainforest.

''Wow,'' Harry grinned as Snape appeared at his elbow, also eyeing their surroundings appreciatively.

They stood in a clearing of what appeared to be the very centre of the space. Harry could just make out the tips of the three hoops at either end of the pitch through the tops of the trees. And they weren't just any trees; the smallest he could have uprooted and stood in the palm of his hand, whereas others stood taller than he'd ever seen, each unique and beautiful. They cast ominous shadows about the foliage that carpeted the damp earth, and despite their monstrous size, they almost seemed to sway with the faint wind that whipped at Harry's ankles.

He felt the magic tingling all the way down his spine and shivered. All about them, mysterious noises, foreign to Harry's ears, disrupted the silence. He didn't know quite what to make of the place.

''You can't tell me that room did all this,'' he said finally.

''Have you not yet learnt the extraordinary capability of the smallest, most innocent of objects, Mr. Potter?'' Snape replied calmly, drawing out his wand to replace the wards that had permitted them entrance. ''Tom Riddles Diary perhaps?'' he supplied to Harry's confused look. ''Or how about a simple wand.'' He balanced his own on the tip of a long pale finger. ''After all, it is just a combination of various matters…nothing particularly astonishing, but combine them, hand them to a wizard, and just look at the power that can be unearthed.''

He motioned towards Harry's scar. ''Never underestimate power, Potter,'' he said softly.

Harry swallowed and nodded slowly. How Snape could turn the simplest of messages into something deep and entrancing would never cease to amaze him. He shuddered slightly and gripped his own wand more tightly.

''I designed the scenario, the room did the rest. Now…Your task, Potter,'' Snape smirked slightly in a conspiritual sort of way that let Harry know he'd enjoy this one. ''It is not a complicated one, in many ways, but it shall test you to your greatest capabilities, I believe. Everything that I have attempted to teach you over the last few weeks shall now be put into practice in a replica of the Third Task of the Tri-Wizard Tournament. Here, however, it is our second-''

''The tournament?'' Harry repeated uncertainly. He'd no desire to relive that particular memory but it seemed that Snape had other ideas. He must have some reason for using it, Harry thought as his pulse quickened. Why else would he make him face such a morbid event for a second time?

''I know that perhaps this is not the best method to test your magic,'' Snape said carefully, reading the growing terror on Harry's face and swiftly dispelling it, ''I asked that the room copy the formula of the task, though at a greater level to see if you have improved, including challenges, obstacles...''

He waved a hand through their air to reiterate his point and Harry nodded, listening carefully.

''Though,'' Snape continued calmly, ''as you can see, we are in a jungle, not a maze, and there is no cup waiting in the centre to teleport you anywhere unwanted, among other things.''

Harry flinched but nodded again, determined and willing to do whatever Snape asked of him in order to be as prepared as possible for Voldemort.

''It was the most appropriate means by which I could measure your ability and, I admit, Potter, the most convenient. Your discomfort however is not entirely unprofitable. It will play a key role in this little scenario. You are likely-''

''-to be feeling just as uncomfortable and...'' Harry swallowed, ''nauseous and all that when I'm really faced with Voldemort. Practice, right?'' If this was Snape's way of telling him he didn't want to put him through any unneccasary pain but it may, on this occasion, be beneficial, Harry wasn't persuaded.

''I could very well have left this information private. The similarities are not immediately apparent. I warned you so that it would not interfere with the task itself, so be grateful, Potter,'' Snape snapped, growing impatient.

'Warned him so that he didn't get half way through and have a panic attack as realisation dawned,' Harry translated. Trust Snape to put him through a tidal wave of unpleasant memories for the sake of progress, he thought grimly.

He should have known Snape would've realised he wasn't over his ordeal in the maze and, by doing this, make him regain some of his confidence and ease his fear as well. Harry didn't know whether to be angry or grateful. Regardless, he was going to be tested in more ways than one today.

''So, this will test my defensive magic and stuff?'' he asked, wanting to forget any connection that this place may have with the maze at Hogwarts.

He could only complain so much, however. If he had to choose between doing this and occlumency, this would win hands down every time. The chance of danger and physical harm had its thrills. This was what he'd envisioned the training to include in the first place, and he was determined, if not to enjoy every part of it, to at least learn something.

''There will be monsters and stuff I have to fight?''

''Defensive magic will evidentially play a part,'' Snape replied smoothly, ''though you shall also require the use of other skills that are essential for survival. As for monsters…'' He looked down his hooked nose at Harry with a condescending frown. ''Never before have I heard of a _monster_ in the literal world, Potter.''

Harry blushed, acknowledging that he may have got slightly carried away. ''I meant-''

''I know what you meant,'' Snape snapped impatiently, ''though not all are as inept at decoding your minimal language skills as I, Potter. You need to make yourself coherent; we don't have time for any of your childish nonsense today.''

Harry huffed slightly and folded his arms, waiting for Snape to continue. He silently marvelled at the man's ability to change from bearable to a bastard in a single moment. It was as though he couldn't even make his mind up about how he wanted to behave, but almost couldn't help being almost... pleasant to him, but unable to fight his own nature.

Harry couldn't help it if the man got annoyed with the slightest thing he said that reminded him that he was still a kid, and prone to the odd silliness. It was as though Snape was simply made to hate him and no matter what they went through, or how they changed, they couldn't fight the power of fate that seemed to have decided that they'd always argue.

''Other dark creatures however…'' Snape said, ignoring Harry's offended expression. He left the sentence hanging, for Harry's own over active imagination to fabricate the rest.

''Ok,'' Harry replied stiffly, with as much confidence as he could muster. ''What do I need to do then?''

Snape folded his arms across his chest and narrowed his eyes before speaking. ''There is a flag hidden somewhere within the depths of these trees. Find it and return it to its rightful place.''

Harry waited but Snape didn't elaborate any further.

''What?'' he blinked. ''That's it? What do you mean its _rightful place_? What _flag_?''

''As I said, Potter,'' Snape replied with small, unsympathetic smirk, ''you shall need more than magical skill to complete this task.''

''Don't I get any clues?''

Snape raised dark eyebrow, looking at Harry closely for a moment as though assessing him.

''Would you like one?''

''What?''

''A clue, Potter. Would you like one?''

Harry frowned. Was that a trick question? Hadn't he just asked for one? He paused when he saw the small, challenging glint in Snape's eyes and realised what this was about. Shaking his head, he pulled up his sleeves and held out his wand in preparation.

''No,'' he said confidently, ''I don't need your clues. I can do it just fine on my own.''

Snape's lips titled briefly as he nodded, glad that the boy had finally come to this decision with a little persuasion. He'd never thought Harry to be lacking in confidence but his insecurity was becoming increasingly apparent, especially where his own abilities were concerned.

''I do not believe, with a small amount of skill and thought, the flag in itself will be too hard to find. The various obstacles you will encounter shall prove slightly more challenging and it will be your exertion in these areas that I shall be watching most closely.''

The seriousness on Snape's face told Harry that this was not going to be at all easy. This really was a test; the test Snape had been waiting to give him. This was his chance to show what he could really do. He wasn't going to mess this up...

Harry opened his mouth to ask a further stream of questions but Snape was already turning to leave.

''I shall be watching you more closely this time, Potter,'' he called over a black clad shoulder. ''Your every move shall be noted so I suggest you apply yourself with more adequacy than you have previously. A repeat performance of last time will not be acceptable.''

''Wait!'' Harry called, beginning to panic slightly as Snape began to be swallowed by the darkness between the trees. ''_Snape_!''

That got his attention. He whipped round to fix Harry with a glare.

''Sorry,'' Harry said hurriedly. ''_Professor _Snape_._ But you need to tell me more! Just basic stuff...I don't know-''

''Exactly,'' Snape hissed, silencing him. The boy had a great mind, he had proved that. It was almost painful in the way it maddened Snape when he didn't use it. ''_Exactly_, Potter.''

''How many times have you been thrust into a situation where you knew not a shred of information that could possibly aid you in achieving your final goal?'' he asked with a despairing sigh. ''Numerous, if I am not misinformed. As in the tournament, your lack of sufficient information is a reflection of life itself.''

Snape half growled, his face contorting in frustration as Harry continued to look confused._ ''Think_, boy! You are not incapable. Chasing after that infernal Philosophers Stone had you facing unexpected challenges in abundance…And the Chamber of Secrets? The Tri- Wizzard Tournament?…Would you like me to take you through the remainder of your current school years, Potter, or is my point adequately made?''

Harry nodded his head slowly, comprehension dawning.

''Excellent, _progress_…'' Snape snarled sarcastically. ''When you face the Dark Lord, like you now know you_ must,_ you shall be in a similar position. You may very well not know your surroundings and your available resources. You must learn to think on your feet. You may be quite alone when the time comes. You have survived your encounters with the Dark Lord on previous occasions by the skin of your neck, Potter! Next time he will not be so forgiving.''

Harry stared back at him, a tingle of fear edging its way into his stomach. This was real training and Snape meant every word he said. It _would _be a lot harder than before as Voldemort, for all intents and purposes, wished for nothing more than to kill him. All games were over.

He knew what he had to do but not how, or what with, which, as he now knew, was exactly the point. He gulped, hoping Snape wouldn't notice the distinct paling of his face, and gripped his wand in his sweaty palm. He brought it up in line with his elbow, determined now more than ever not to make a complete fool of himself and fail.

''And the quidditch pitch..? What's that for?'' he asked suddenly, curious.

Snape's lips twitched at this, some of the tension leaving his face. ''A little hint for later on…you shall see. This task does not come without its rewards.''

''Wha-''

''Good luck, Mr. Potter,'' he called again over his shoulder, this time with a ring of finality as he left Harry very much alone.

Harry swallowed and looked around more closely, drawing up his courage. He blinked through the sleepy haziness that still clouded his eyes. He'd need to forget how tired he was to perform to Snape's standards.

Everything seemed much bigger and more intimidating now that Snape's presence was absent. Harry took a deep, steadying breath, and walked slowly towards the trees, wand outstretched.

--

Harry soon lost track of time. Snape had indeed endeavoured to put each and every component of the training into this task and it was, as expected, much harder than anything he'd encountered previously.

Flashbacks of the tournament and of the graveyard that followed it were infrequent and more of an annoyance than a real hindrance as time passed, which was nothing short of a complete surprise for Harry. He'd expected more. Much more.

Perhaps Snape was trying to prove something to him... If only the man would be less damn cryptic and say what he damn well meant for once.

Half the creatures he stumbled across he'd only ever seen in books or heard about in passing during class. He had no idea whatsoever about how to deal with them.

It took every scrap of resource and ingenuity that he had to attempt to defeat them or else to run away, which he did on more than one occasion in abandonment of his pride. He was sure to be scorned for it later but at the time, his life seemed much more important. It seemed he still had a lot to learn.

Additional dark spells and riddles that had been scattered in the most unexpected places, quickly tired Harry, though he'd yet to be stumped. This task was certainly much harder than anything he'd ever done before, he didn't doubt that, but he was getting through it, slowly but surely, when a few weeks ago he would have been lost at the first hurdle. That thought gave him confidence and the energy to continue.

It was four hours since he'd first entered the room when Harry finally spotted the flag.

Scrambling on his hands and knees, he ripped it from where it stood proudly, Slytherin emblem displayed on both sides of the fabric so that it couldn't possibly be missed. His breaths came out rapidly as he shot a quick glance over his shoulder to make sure he was alone, before inspecting the flag more closely.

There was a small inscription tied to it. Harry quickly read the note in Snape's precise handwriting, ignoring the burning stitch in his side: '_Return to its rightful place'_

Harry frowned, sighing in confusion and weariness at the message. Rightful place? Where did a Slytherin flag belong? Down the toilet if he had anything to do with it…But he was guessing that wasn't the answer.

He rolled the flag over his deeply scratched hands and tried to think, but it was getting harder to do so. He was on the verge of collapse and had been before he even started. It was a miracle he'd got this far at all.

He could only come up with one answer.

''Hogwarts?'' he said aloud. Snape couldn't possibly expect him to go all the way to…

''Oh god…'' Harry's mouth dropped open for the second time that day. What appeared to be a replica or an illusion of the ancient castle he liked to call home, was floating in the sky, some 500 metres off the ground. It was a lot smaller than 'real' Hogwarts but the resemblance was clearly there. Harry now knew what he had to do. The only problem was how to do it. He could hardly fly up there...

It didn't take him long to work out this problem and he prided himself on it. Snape had said this was a quidditch pitch for a reason, now Harry knew why. He'd also said this task had its rewards.

Harry's heart beat rapidly in his chest with adrenaline. ''Accio Firebolt,'' he roared.

No sooner than he said it than his beloved broom was diving in and out of the trees, weaving an unsteady path towards him. Harry grinned to himself; he couldn't remember the last time he'd flown. He moved to mount the broom, though with second thought healed his abused hands first, before gripping the highly polished wood to save himself any unnecessary pain.

Not having the time or energy to heal the rest of himself, and knowing he'd do a poor job of it if he tried, Harry gave the broom a quick affectionate pat, the flag stowed carefully in his belt, and kicked off hard from the ground. He felt the familiar, much missed swooping sensation in his stomach as he soared into the air.

'This is more like it,' he thought, feeling more free than he had all summer as he looped and dived about in the sky, forgetting for a moment the task. He couldn't help it. This opportunity was too rare not to take advantage of. He was so going to convince Snape to let him do this more often.

Eventually, he set off towards the castle once his initial enthusiasm was satisfied. As it came further and further into sight, he realised that it was being guarded by dragons no less. Was Snape mad? Dragons? Again? He hadn't mentioned that he'd been combining more than one task.

Harry grimaced to himself; he should have known Snape wouldn't make it that easy. He couldn't deny though the excitement that flitted through him, despite the obvious danger. He'd faced a dragon once before, he could do it again. Harry dived out of the way of the first burst of flame that came his way. With the second he wasn't so lucky.

The tail of his broom caught alight as he failed to dodge in time. Cursing wildly, he quickly extinguished the flame with the tip of his wand. However, remaining stationary for those few vital moments had brought the dragons dangerously close. Harry was forced to flee, the huge beasts close on his tail.

His firebolt was no match for a dragon. His speed and flexibility soon had them exhausted and dizzy. He left them somewhere near the foot of the castle as he climbed increasingly higher, searching for the home of the flag. He reached the uppermost turrets. Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff flags had already been placed along the walls that lined the seventh floor. There was one place remaining at the peak of the castle. Harry snorted. Who said Snape didn't have a sense of humour?

Harry thought seriously for a moment as he caught his breath back. Snape had said put the flag in its rightful place. Well, that was all down to a matter of opinion wasn't it? Quickly uprooting the Gryffindor flag, before the dragons had a chance to catch up with him, Harry flew with it up to the top of the castle. He landed smoothly on the stone surface and set the flag on the highest peak.

The Slytherin flag found its home in one of the window ledges along the first floor. Harry grinned to himself as he watched his house flag flutter slightly in the wind. He hardly noticed that the trees and surrounding jungle had disappeared, returning the training room to its usual self, as he did a few laps round around the room in celebration.

''Potter, get down here,'' called a voice all too familiar, breaking into Harry's elated mood.

He sighed and turned round slowly to shoot back towards the earth. The small black spec that was Snape quickly grew in size and took shape as he descended. He was standing back in the clearing where they'd started with his arms folded across his chest.

''You just couldn't resist could you, Potter?'' His eyes held a glint of amusement as Harry landed gracefully, dismounted his broom, and limped towards him.

''Nope,'' Harry grinned widely, desperate to hold on to this content, elated feeling for as long as possible. ''You really expected me to put Slytherin above Gryffindor?''

Snape opened his mouth to reply with a trademark snide comeback, but Harry was not in the mood for an argument which surprised Snape. Usually an opportunity to insult the greasy potions master in a matter of principle was not passed up lightly by the boy. It was just one of the many signs hitting him from all angles telling him that his relationship with Harry Potter was indeed changing, despite his best efforts to remain a figure to be feared and despised.

''So how did I do?'' Harry asked brightly, looking up at Snape expectantly. ''You meant for me to use a broom right? That's why the room is shaped like a…'' he motioned around with his hands, ''quidditch pitch.''

Snape kept the impeding smile from his lips as Harry continued to gibber at him in an animated fashion. It was indeed no coincidence that Harry had had the chance to fly today. The task he'd set him was not so different from what he'd done before, if more complex. Harry had been forced to up his game and that he had done well.

The lack of defensiveness and hostility which Harry had again forgotten to direct in his presence was far more disconcerting. To have the boy so...alive and carefree with him caused a twist in Snape's gut and for a moment he forgot who he was.

The task had taken its toll on Harry. He was even more of a mess than he was before. Leaves and sticks were protruding from his hair and clothes. He was covered in scratches and bruises, but he definitely seemed more relaxed, Snape noted with satisfaction. A few moments flying had given him the freedom that he needed. He'd be fitter to work if he was in a better state of mind, that's what Snape told himself.

Occlumency and the hardness of the training were straining the young Gryffindor, the older man was not ignorant of this. Harry needed a release or a break, though he'd never call it that, and he had given it to him. The toughness and potential danger of the task more than compensated for his generosity, and kept the man comfortable with letting Harry this.

Snape himself could hibernate in the coldness of his dungeons for months at a time, if he could get away with it, though he was not so naive to not know that others needed more. Harry was one of those energy filled people that was not content to live with the limitations Snape had subjected him to. The smile that lit up the boy's face at the simple act of riding round on that rotting stick was a reward Snape rejected.

''So how did I do?'' Harry asked again loudly, cutting into Snape's thoughts. He quirked an eyebrow as the boy forgot himself for a moment, and was bold enough to tug lightly on his sleeve. ''Did I pass? I thought I did ok will the troll and that, but that scaly demon thing...What the hell was tha-''

''You failed, Potter,'' Snape said simply, removing his arm from Harry's reach with a cold look of disapproval, and there it was. The hardness returned sharply to Harry's face, and Snape could not help but feel relieved. ''I said to take the flag to its _rightful_ place-''

Harry's face fell. ''I did!'' he cried indignantly. It was easier to be so cocky when he was up there in the sky, so full of adrenaline, but standing in front of the Head of Slytherin House who was being decidedly unpleasant as ever, Harry recoiled slightly, his confidence failing fast. He shrugged apologetically but Snape dismissed the gesture, fighting his own mild amusement at Harry's actions.

''I beg to differ, Mr. Potter and it is my opinion on this matter that counts after all.''

''Spoil sport...'' Harry muttered, but as he noticed Snape smother a small, amused smirk, he let out a grin. ''Poor Gryffindor,'' he sighed, merely to provoke Snape further and lighten him up. ''Forever to be dominated by Slytherin purely because of one man's creed.''

Snape snorted. ''What are you on about now? The task is over and we have a lot of debriefing to do.''

Harry groaned but was silenced with a warning glance from Snape that let him know that all teasing was over.

He cast one last affectionate look at the sky. ''Couldn't I…?'' he began hesitantly.

''No,'' Snape answered simply, already beginning to walk away.

''Just once more-''

''No! Perhaps later if you are to give me an acceptable explanation of your mistakes today, but not now,'' Snape relented and Harry beamed.

Snape rolled his eyes. ''Come, Mr. Potter.''

* * *

Night had already blackened the windows of the Manor by the time Snape and Harry had finished discussing Harry's conduct during the second task.

Overall, Snape would have called it a success had he been a more optimistic man. It was highly unlikely, though not impossible, that Harry would be facing dragons and dense rainforests when he battled the Dark Lord, but this was good training. Harry was certainly benefiting from it.

He'd definitely done as well as could be expected, and Snape was sure Harry had come out of the task stronger, and with a higher awareness of what would be expected of him in the future.

''I'll expect that essay on the task by the end of the week then, Mr. Potter, no excuses,'' Snape informed him, standing up and stretching slightly to rid himself of the kinks that had formed in his back after being sat in one position for so long.

''How long does it have to be?'' Harry asked with a yawn, struggling to stand at all.

''As long as it needs to be,'' Snape answered vaguely, thereby giving himself the right to reprimand Harry no matter how much produced, purely by habit.

Harry grumbled but did not reply. All he wanted to do for the rest of his life was sleep.

''Just a moment, Mr. Potter,'' Snape called him back before he could reach the door and make an effective escape.

Harry gave Snape a wary look as the man approached him with a critical expression, coming to stand closer than he usually would have. Snape just gave him a cold look however, to hide whatever true emotions were hiding under the surface, and ignoring his protest, took his chin between his forefinger and thumb. He turned Harry's head to each side, shaking his head slightly as he examined the various cuts and bruises that littered his thin face.

''You really are a delicate thing aren't you, Potter,'' he said smirking.

''Shut up,'' Harry moaned, trying to pull away but Snape only hardened his grip.

''Hold still,'' he said in a bored voice and quickly healed the wounds. ''Are there any others?''

''Hmm...How about everywhere,'' Harry said with a roll of his eyes. He did indeed feel like every bone he possessed was aching with an intensity he'd never felt before. ''You did have me fighting dragons, sir!''

Snape shook his head. ''Not fighting, Potter. You merely had to get around the dragons, that was all. The fire they breathed was as artificial as they were. You were in no danger of real harm.''

Harry thought this over for a moment. ''Oh,'' he said quietly, realising now how stupid he'd been to think Snape would have him face real dragons. It had all been part of the illusion.

''Show me your knees,'' Snape demanded lightly and Harry complied, revealing a pair of pale knobbly knees that were, as Snape had suspected, heavily cut and bleeding.

He healed these silently and quickly set a charm over Harry, searching for any other areas that were in need of attention, not trusting the boy to give him a straight answer. Finding nothing else in too bad a condition, he released Harry from his inspection.

''Thank you, that feels be-'' Harry begun but he was broken off by a large rumble from his empty stomach. ''How long until dinner?'' he asked, clutching his middle as he fought to hide his embarrasment. It wasn't as though he hadn't eaten enough at breakfast. Maybe sleep would have to wait after all.

Snape raised an eyebrow. ''Not hungry again are we, Potter? Am I to turn into your chef as well as everything else?''

Harry grimaced as a second huge rumble confirmed his answer.

Snape smirked. ''You'll have to exercise your patience for a few more moments I am afraid, if that is not too much of an inconvenience,'' he said sarcastically, though he were also hungry himself. ''I shall call you when it is ready.''

''I think I'll just wait in the kitchen while you make it,'' Harry said absently, half a mind still on his empty stomach. He didn't much feel like being alone anymore and Snape wasn't being too horrible at the moment. The sooner he could eat, the sooner he could go back to bed. He'd slept very little over the last few weeks after all.

Snape raised an eyebrow but didn't stop Harry. He asked himself why when his first reaction was to force the boy away with all the strength he could muster. He waited for the hatred and overwhelming loathing, that usually swallowed him up on sight of the boy and his attempts to socialise with him, to take hold of him.

But, as with breakfast, it was only a much muted version of what should, and would not so long ago have been, such a reaction. A small shiver ran down the curve of his spine and he realised further more that, despite his best efforts, his resolve had been trickling away before his very eyes.

For once in his life, Snape didn't have an answer to his own actions. His thoughts, once again, had turned traitorous. When Harry was like this, when he was capable of being civil, he wasn't a complete nuisance, Snape couldn't deny that.

In fact, the boy's character, if not appealing to Snape, was at least interesting. He was finding Harry every bit as engaging and motivating as Dumbledore had made him out to be. He'd been so distracted lately, with the training and with the occlumency, that his guard may have dropped on occasion, and his hatred for Harry hadn't been at the front of his mind as it always had been, and now he was finding it near impossible to tempt it back.

He would allow himself to indulge in the boy's company, and be aware that he was, in some ludicrous way, enjoying it, for now. Snape slipped past that thick wall of denial as he watched Harry's retreating back. He would never admit that he was lonely. Most of the time he truly wasn't. The darkness was his blanket, his safe haven, and his peace. It was all he wanted.

Harry had turned this upside down when he'd walked through the door, depriving Snape of his solitary summer. While the thought of any other in his home, and being forced to converse with any other wizard was as unfavourable to him as it had ever been, the thought of Harry did not displease him quite so much.

For the first time, he allowed himself to compare the two different ways he had come to regard the boy; before and now, when things had begun to change.

He cursed to himself, muttering profanities under his breath as he followed Harry at a more cautious pace. He really couldn't allow himself to stray down that path, however natural it may seem now, for the implications would turn his entire world upside down. What foundations would he have when this new fragile understanding was ripped from beneath his feet?

He'd been too cruel, too bitter towards the boy to dare hope for any sort of forgiveness, yet that is exactly what the boy was beginning to show...Forgiveness. Stupid boy. It wouldn't last. He'd come to his senses, Snape knew that only too well. Where did that leave them? Exactly nowhere and back where they started. What did he want? Snape didn't even know.

He did, however, acknowledge his intense desire for simplicity. Any complication in his life was a nuisance. He wanted Harry to be an arrogant little shit, a replica of his father, a dimless wit...It was how he felt comfortable and safest. He wouldn't know how to cope any other way.

Allowing himself to willingly accept that Harry was anything else was unthinkable, yet the damn boy continued to push him towards just that, on a daily basis.

He'd have to be more careful. He mustn't confuse his appreciation with the boy's academic progress, and his anger and disgust at his upbringing, with his views on the boy personally. But was that what it was? Somehow Snape didn't think so and that thought deeply disturbed him, more so than he could say.

Groaning as his head began to pound, signalling the beginning of a migraine if he continued with this train of thought, he pushed any such thoughts from his mind, until later when he could analyse them properly.

Now he had dinner to cook and the innocent ramblings of a very tired Gryffindor to contend with.

* * *

Dinner was a quiet affair, it usually was, but tonight especially so. Harry, being so tired, didn't have much energy to attempt to strike up conversation with his mentor who preferred the silence anyway.

Snape however, was forced to speak. He knew what he was about to ask of Harry couldn't be avoided, but that didn't make him feel any better about it.

''Harry…'' he said slowly, his voice quiet. Harry raised his eyes enquiringly. It always meant something important when Snape used his first name, not a good sign. Something about the tone of his voice unnerved Harry, and as he looked up, he was momentarily shocked to see rare empathy in Snape's eyes.

Harry frowned, confused. Snape had been acting weird all day...weirder than usual. He'd been his normal cold self, but bursts of warm had filtered through his indifference, such as when he'd healed his wounds. He had that same look on his face now; one of curiosity and self-questioning as though he were unsure about the very foundations that made himself who he was.

''What is it?'' he asked, watching Snape's dark eyes flicker over his face. He knew he must look awful.

Snape cleared his throat and smoothed his face into an impassive, detached expression. ''We must practice occlumency tonight.''

Harry visibly paled. ''What?'' he croaked. Snape couldn't possible consider putting him through that again so soon. Couldn't he see how weak he was becoming?

''There is no other option.'' Snape dropped his eyes. Harry could tell he was just as uncomfortable with the thought as he was. ''Time is not something we have a great deal of, and the promise you have begun to show will be wasted if we lapse now. Do you understand?''

Harry suddenly felt very sick. His memories were most vivid and deep when he was weary. Tonight he was sure to witness all the memories he so wanted to forget in agonizingly accurate detail. Any hopes he may have had of recuperating any time soon, and lessening his vivid nightmares, would be compromised if he did this. But how could he tell Snape that?

''You _want _to learn this remember,'' Snape said firmly, reaching across the table to firmly grab Harry's wrists, allowing himself for a moment to act on impulse. ''Harry,_ look at me_!''

Harry did so very reluctantly. Snape always had a way of making him face the terrible but honest truths he wanted only to step into sideways. Snape forced Harry, not only to accept them, but to look them full in the face, the last thing he wanted to do.

''Do not try to hide from this,'' he said, his eyes burning with such intensity that Harry had to fight not to look away, ''you have already proved capable. All I need is a little more from you Harry…Just a little more.''

''Just a little more?'' Harry repeated with a hopeless expression, ''Sir, I can't! I'm knackered.''

''I am aware of that,'' Snape answered, shutting his eyes briefly in an expression Harry couldn't understand, ''And I know this idea seems absurd to you-''

''Then why are you asking me?'' Harry cut across him, returning Snape's intense gaze with something close to pleading in his eyes. ''We don't have to do this. You could say no and we can do it another time...when I feel...more like myself.''

Snape shook his head.

''But-''

''Do not argue with me,'' Snape stopped him, his voice harder now, ''I have made my decision.''

Harry looked away, an ugly expression on his face, and he attempted to remove himself from Snape's reach, but the man only increased his hold on his wrists. Snape could see now that the boy didn't understand at all, and for some insane reason that mattered him. He had to make it right, or at least as right as it could be.

''Do you honestly believe that you will return to occlumency with any confidence if we delay for so much as a day?'' he asked him, forcing Harry back into the conversation, ''you would be terrified at the very prospect, Potter, much more so than you are now. Our greatest chance of success is given to us only if we act immediately.''

Harry sat silent, staring at a point a few centimetres above Snape's left shoulder. He sighed. ''It's like falling of a horse then?'' he said, knowing Snape would not leave until he had had a response. When the man raised an eyebrow in confusion, he continued with a small smile. ''Sorry, it's a muggle expression. I have fallen off my horse and now I need to get back on it...again.''

''You are making no sense, Po-''

''No,'' Harry argued, ''I am...except I haven't fallen off my horse. I've been in control of my mind but now occlumency has thrown me. I keep trying to defeat it...and control my thoughts but I getting pushed back...like being thrown from a horse...Everyone knows that if you fall off a horse-''

''The best course of action would be to remount as soon as possible,'' Snape finished for him, ''I understand you, Potter. Not a comparison I would have made myself...'' Some of the tension left his face as nodded, accepting that Harry now understood, ''but an accurate assessment of our current situation.''

''So, what time do we start?'' Harry asked, defeated.

Snape regarded his watch. ''I will give you two hours and then we shall begin.''

He looked as though he wanted to say something else, but was reluctant. Harry tugged at his hand, wanting it back, and it was this resistance that propelled Snape to speak.

''You don't just need to do this, you _want_ to help your friends,'' he said quickly, as though if he said it fast, it would have the same effect but mean less. He didn't want to appear soft and over encouraging but he needed Harry to do this willingly. He wouldn't drag him through this anymore. It would be the death of him. ''Keep that in mind and it will not be so unbearable.''

Harry sighed deeply but nodded with a brief, bitter smile.

Snape had a strange expression on his face. It was almost wistful...

''Is it so hard to put some trust in me, Harry? I believe I have yet to lead you astray,'' he said with extreme difficulty, allowing some emotion into his voice for the first time.

Harry opened his mouth but nothing came out. He didn't know what to say.

Snape's eyes burned into his for a long moment before he dropped sharply the vice like grip he had on his wrists, and vanished the remainder of his food and cutlery. He swept out of the room without another word, looking if possible, paler than usual.


	14. Department of Mysteries

---

Harry descended the seemingly endless stairs in a slight daze. A few precious stolen hours of sleep was enough to make him want to stay in the confines of his ridiculously comfortable four poster, and say good riddance to occlumency forever. It took every last piece of willpower he had to throw back those silky sheets and put one foot in front of the other.

He took a deep, calming breath in an attempt to dispel the nerves that had made their way into his stomach, twisting and clenching in an uncomfortable pattern that left him gasping for air. He could do this. He was not weak... Or was he? Harry had never felt so emotionally screwed up in his life. Snape had put his entire core into a frenzy, causing him to question everything that he was, or had ever been. If Voldemort didn't kill him, occlumency would, Harry was sure of it.

As the library loomed closer, Harry fought the desire to turn back every step of the way. His face was contorted in a silent determination as he heaved open the door with the little strength that remained in his frail limbs.

The grandfather clock let out a low piercing chime as Harry silently walked past the towering column of books, head bowed. He knew he was pushing his luck, time-wise, but he'd never cared less. Snape could shout at him until he was red in the face, it would make no difference to Harry's current attitude; being punctual was the last thing on his mind at the moment.

His eyes quickly adjusted to the dimly lit room, allowing Snape's presence in the corner to become more obvious. Harry found it hard not to feel resentful as he stepped hesitantly closer and took in his teachers' calm expression. If only he could learn to be as composed and controlled as Snape always was, no matter his inner feelings. He wished it had come naturally to him.

Snape glanced up as Harry approached, his face gaurded. He raised an eyebrow to acknowledge the boy before pointedly dropping his eyes to his watch.

''Cutting it a little close this evening, arn't we?'' he warned, getting smoothly to his feet.

The sudden increase in Snape's height did nothing to make Harry feel any less intimidated and vulnerable. Reflexively, he took a few steps back and nodded his head mutely in apology. He tried not to flinch as Snape's gaze swept across his face, openly scrutinizing.

''Sorry, sir,'' Harry muttered tonelessly, when he realised Snape was waiting for a verbal response. ''I meant to be on time.''

''Of course,'' Snape drawled, sarcasm lining his words. He looked as though he would continue with a cynical tone, but seemed to decide against it as he watched the boy sway on his feet, fighting exhaustion.

Tensing his shoulders, Harry trained his eyes on his teacher's carefully masked face, reluctant and almost warning. He had nothing left in him. He didn't know what Snape expected from him tonight, but he had nothing left to give; he was completely and utterly emotionally spent. He needed to sleep to build back up his much needed strength, before he got even more ill.

More than that, he wanted to clear the uncertainty in their relationship, with him never knowing what would come next. He needed to know where he stood with the man, for he hardly knew anymore.

Snape had not been particularly cruel to him in a long time, but this new intensity with which the man regarded him, one full of curiosity and faint pride, altering to impatience and familiar disdain when he least expected it, was almost just as exhausting.

Without conscious effort, Harry's face twisted into a scowl, darkening his grim expression and emphasising the bags beneath his eyes.

A moment later, Snape had glanced away, seeming preoccupied. He blinked a few times, as though he were trying to dispel the thoughts he'd been stewing over before Harry had entered the room.

Harry caught a glimpse of the man's peculiar expression as the mask slipped for the briefest of seconds. It was scarce moments like these that both angered him and filled him with hope. Snape _did_ feel, but he was so damn good at hiding everything, and those emotions that he did have were so unlike that of other people, that Harry struggled to comprehend them.

Harry was not so ignorant of Snape's character as he had once been, however. There was much, much more to the man than Harry had ever given him credit for before, and it was beginning to frustrate and disturbed him that the man repressed himself so brutally, for Harry guessed that he would much prefer the part of Snape that was kept most hidden.

It was times like these that Harry wondered what it was that Snape was truly thinking, for the Slytherin did think a lot, more than most people, and more deeply, just in a different way. Perhaps it was this dishonesty, and a blind ignorance of the truth that had led them to such a dislike for eachother.

''You'll have to try harder than that if you desire insight into my mind, Potter,'' came Snape's voice from where he'd wandered to the shelves, mildly amused. ''Though not at present, if you don't mind. You are giving me a headache.''

Snape turned his back to him as he replaced a book, picked another and began leafing through its pages. Harry didn't bother to answer.

He totally resented the fact that Snape was putting this training above his own health, when he'd made it clear earlier that the latter was to be put first at all costs. He knew it was for his own good, and that they had to strike while the iron was hot and all that, but that did not dampen his weariness with the entire ordeal.

And who was there to blame? Snape and only Snape. There was no one else for Harry to vent his frustrations upon.

The man obviously had some hidden agenda concocted somewhere, the reason why he insisted on pushing so hard. Harry couldn't believe that it was purely to see him succeed and suffer as a result. Snape was revealing a determination, a dedication all of his own as this training deepened, its source unknown to Harry.

''What is it, Potter?'' Snape asked calmly as he finally turned back, laying his chosen occlumency book on the table between them.

He then moved over to his pensive and retracted some of his own more private thoughts as he waited for a response. He had to admit it made him anxious to see the boy in such a dark mood, and he questioned once again his motives, but duty won out. He knew that Harry would come to appreciate this by the end.

The lines creasing Harry's face deepened. He refused to believe Snape was ignorant of his thoughts.

''Well?'' Snape asked again as Harry silently watched, unseeing, as he pulled the silvery strings of memory from his scalp. It was a disgusting image, yet an intriguing one. Harry knew he'd never be privy to any of the things Snape was so keen to keep from him. He didn't even know if he'd actually look if given the chance. Snape's past was probably just as dark as his own if not more so-

''Potter, answer me! Ignorant child, do not ignore me. I shall not ask again,'' Snape sharply interrupted Harry's wandering thoughts, revealing once again his complete lack of tolerence with tardiness.

''You know already,'' Harry replied, equally as impatiently. He was finding it hard to concentrate, and stay on a single track of thought at a time as it was, without Snape's prodding.

''Of course I know. I was merely suggesting that your thoughts to me. Verbally. I shall only witness them later in a far more uncomfortable fashion.''

Snape's memories swirled around the bowl one by one. He watched them closely, lazily drawing a few to the surface in order to prolong the moment when it would be Harry's thoughts he'd be witnessing, and not his own.

''That scowl on your face shall not aid you in your defence mechanisms, I can assure you,'' he added, forcing himself around. He needed to focus if he was to get through this with any walls left standing, and god knows Harry needed his detachment, even if he didn't yet realise it.

He forced his gaze onto the boy, willing him with his eyes to concentrate. He knew how easy it would be for Harry to lapse into his more immature side and wiggle his way out of this, turning it into a dispute between the pair of them and, therefore, excusing himself from taking occlumency seriously tonight. Snape couldn't allow that to happen at such a vital stage.

Harry give a deep, weary sigh and lifted a shaky hand, running it through his hair, indecision clear in the way he avoided Snape's eyes, looking anywhere but at him.

''Your fear is becoming you, Potter,'' Snape murmured, and watched as Harry cringed away from the words, knowing as well as he did the truth behind them. ''A brave man is not one that feels no fear, but one that fights on despite that fear...no matter the cost. No matter what he may lose.''

''How about if it's his sanity?'' Harry whispered, his knuckles white at his sides. He'd heard that saying before, or something like it, but it had never meant much to him before now.

''Are you going mad then, Mr. Potter? Have you reached your final threads of rational thought?'' He raised an eyebrow. He didn't need to hear Harry's response. The sagging of the boy's small shoulders told him all he needed to know.

''I thought not.''

Conscious of the time, and of the way Harry had begun to sway more dangerously on his feet, Snape pressed swiftly on.

''You may not feel much like being brave at this moment in time, but it is part of who you are. You will do the right thing. You could hardly do wrong in a matter of this nature, your conscience would not allow it.''

Unsure whether this was a compliment or an insult, Harry watched Snape closely, fighting to remain awake.

''You have nothing to prove to me,'' Snape dropped his voice and looked Harry in the eyes with something akin to encouragement. ''It is only yourself now that needs convincing. I am here, and I shall consider your comfort at all times during the exchange, if that is, perhaps, a small consolation.''

Snape felt an unfamiliar stab of unease as he watched Harry's inner conflict displayed clearly across his face, as each of his painful emotions fought for dominance. One of the boy's arms moved round in an unconscious gesture, wrapping securly around his stomach, as if he were trying to hold himself together.

Snape looked away, a grimace forcing a way onto his face. It had been a while since he'd felt like this much of a bastard. If he'd any doubt about how seriously occlumency was affecting the boy, it was no longer.

If he had his way, he would not have to do this at all, but as things were, he had very little choice. He was used to the feeling of resentment, but not in this way, and never on the behalf of another. It was not something he was used to, nor did he particularly like it. Harry deserved more. More than this. He could no longer deny how rapidly his student seemed to be declining.

Harry looked as though a mere breath of wind may knock him off his feet, the way he walked with unsteadiness.

Snape felt, for the first time since Harry had arrived at his manor, regret for what he was about to do, yet, at the same time, he was certain that this had to be done, whether it helped Harry or not. He would not let Harry succumb to this fear.

As long as he fought, the outcome didn't really matter. He did want Harry to succeed at occlumency, more than anything, but there was another reason he was doing this, something much more important. He needed to know that Harry would be capable of continuing to fight when all his mental and physical strengths were at their weakest.

''Let's just get this over and done with shall we?'' Harry said, an edge to his voice that Snape hadn't heard before. However, it was a positive response, and therefore, pleased him all the same.

He returned his attention to the boy and felt a moment of unexpected pride in him for managing to pull himself together so fast. He was almost sorry for the fact that Harry now may very well hate him more than ever.

It certainly was a strange feeling to know that Harry felt hurt, betrayed even, by him for making him do this, even if he did know that it was the right thing to do. People weren't usually prone to feeling disappointment where he was concerned, as he never allowed for expectations. Harry, on the other hand, with all his innocence and niavity, had put unearnt faith into him, trusting him for whatever insane reason.

No matter how much he wanted to, despite himself and all these mixed emotions that he had more aversion to than appreciation, to tell Harry the true extent of why, Snape couldn't, for that would defeat the very point of the exercise. It was no concern of his how Harry felt about him. He'd endured the boy's frustration and hatred for the last four years, a while longer wouldn't hurt him.

''Then sit,'' Snape pointed, diverting his eyes so that he would not have to compete with Harry's accusing stare. ''It is time to begin.''

Harry didn't move immediately. For a moment, Snape thought he really was going to refuse.

''Please sit down,'' he repeated quietly.

Harry hesitated but the look of defiance soon fell from his features, and he sat down with a defeated sigh, registering only dimly that Snape had used the word please. It was a courtesy that he very rarely graced him with.

''Now...'' Snape said, moving to sit opposite him, silently thanking the boy. ''Attempt to clear your mind, as you have done before.''

''I couldn't block my mind tonight, even if I was an accomplished occlumens,'' Harry snapped back irritably, his tiredness and annoyance with Snape for forcing this necessity upon him making him quick to snap. ''You know that full well.''

Snape raised an eyebrow. ''Is that so?'' No matter Harry's condition, he would not allow this attitude. ''And since when were you in any position, Mr. Potter, to tell me what I know?''

Harry glared, his temperament put to the test. He didn't know what Snape was up to, but he was in no mood to try and analyse his behaviour tonight. He was fed up with having to second guess every look, every glance, to try and work out what was going on behind his impenetrable barriers.

He was tired and angry, and he'd never felt so hurt and abused by Snape, which for them was saying something.

''I'd suggest caution when trying to analyse me, Potter, for your conclusions as of late have been far from accurate-'' Snape continued, pushing Harry over the edge.

''I think greasy git, miserable fucking sod death eater pretty much covers it!'' Harry cried, voice rising all the while, an unguarded outburst torn from his lips. ''Why are you doing this to me? Why do you love seeing me suffer so mu-''

''Enough!'' Snape cried, causing Harry to jump slightly despite his own temper. His eyes narrowed and Harry expected him to yell back, but the man's lips pursed firmly and Harry saw the anger in his eyes lose heart, and become overwhelmed by a much stronger emotion. One of which he couldn't put a finger on.

Snape ran a hand over his face with a wince. However difficult he had imagined this would be, nothing could have prepared him with being faced with a Harry Potter in this mood. It only emphasised his preference for the Harry he'd spent the day with, though he'd have to accept that there were many sides to Harry; many layers and scars, unfavourable traits as well as pleasant ones. Snape would have to deal with them all and accept them for what they were -- parts of Harry.

Harry continued to stare but for the first time in a while, he really looked. There were dark, bruising circles round his mentor's eyes that could rival even his. His cheeks were an unhealthy yellow and sunken, though that didn't really tell him much. When were they not?

Snape stood tall now, thick robes encasing him in a layer of protective black material, but Harry knew by the shaking of his hands, that the man was also suffering the fatigue that had him in such a tight grasp. If Harry hexed him now, Snape would fall and remain limp.

This did nothing to improve his mood, even if it did suggest that Snape's motives were not entirely selfish. It just added to the absurdity of the whole thing. Harry didn't look away, his eyes deliberately hard. He wouldn't allow himself to sympathise with Snape.

''I will not tolerate this immaturity, Potter,'' Snape said quietly. Harry thought he heard a note of disappointment in his steely voice. ''I asked for co-operation, you complied and we are here. Do not make this any harder than it needs to be, for both our sakes.''

It seemed as though tonight was going to be a rollercoaster of Harry's emotions, everything thrown to him at once. Snape fought the urge to bury his head in his hands and groan very very loudly.

Harry sighed, a hard lump in his throat that'd been growing all afternoon just becoming more constricting. He opened his mouth but no sound came out. He had no way to describe the way he was feeling, but he knew that it wasn't fair. Snape shouldn't have to compete with him in this way. He had agreed to do this. He could have just said no but he was here, and he owed the man some progress.

''Sir, I'm sor-'' he begun but Snape glared sharply, cutting him off before he could finish.

''Don't you dare,'' he warned, ''apologies, Potter, are a ridicule I have yet to find a purpose for. There is none needed here.''

A few tense moments passed while both tried to arrange their thoughts into some sort of comprehensible order, so that they could begin.

''I am getting no pleasure out of this. I have no desire to see you suffer any more than you already have.'' Snape finally spoke with a sudden urgency to explain himself, partially at least. Never before had he felt like he had to justify himself to the boy, but with the way Harry was obviously feeling, he didn't think he could pass it by this time. Deliberately averting his eyes, Snape busied himself with the occlumency book, flipping through it hastily to the correct page.

Harry opened his mouth and blinked a few times, caught off guard by Snape's abrupt sentiments. He begun to speak but Snape didn't want to hear it, certain that the boy wouldn't care for his confession. It was more for his own peace of mind, to bring it into the open, than to provoke a reaction from Harry.

''Occlumency, Potter!'' he snapped harshly, proppelling the text towards him. ''That is the sole reason we are here. You must defeat the Dark Lord, that is why we are here. You may hate me but as I said when this whole ridicule began...that does not matter. Your education is what matters. I am of no consequence where your preferences are concerned. You may call me any names that you wish, entirely at your leisure when you are back inside your room, alone and unheard. I have no wish to hear them. I am already more than aware of what it is you wish to say.''

A mixture of emotions passed across Harry's face at these words, and he instantly felt regretful for what he'd said. He made an urgent gesture but it ended swiftly. What could he possibly say to that?

Yet Harry felt desperately the need to explain. He didn't hate Snape. How could he possibly after the last few weeks and all they'd done together, surely Snape knew that.

He was angry as hell with him right now, but he'd always been hot tempered and their past wasn't exactly one of pleasantries. But what he did feel...If it wasn't hate, then he couldn't put a name to it. Harry certainly didn't_ like_ the man to any degree, though he thought they'd developed some sort of fragile companionship if nothing else. An understanding.

Was Snape still really where they'd been all those weeks ago at Privet Drive, in that pessimistic mindset? Surely the lessening of hate had been a two way process.

Snape watched Harry battle with himself with a small frown, wondering what he'd said that had such an effect on the boy.

Harry opened his mouth, looked up and made eye contact, but this seemed to unhinge him. He lost his nerve and clamped his lips together again, glancing away.

Snape was not a fool, but nor was he a patient man. He could see that Harry wanted to say something but as no coherent sentences formed, he held out his wand and pointed to the relevant chapter, instructing Harry to read it before blocking his mind.

Harry sighed and complied after a moments contemplation. He still didn't know whether Snape felt anything more than contempt for him. He was no way going to strike up that subject when he could be so very wrong, and the repercussions of a misinterpretation would be horrendous, and more than embarrassing.

Snape was a near impossible man read and Harry wasn't taking any chances. If Snape still hated him more than life, the rejection would hurt more than he could admit, even to himself at this point.

''I ask only that you make once single successful attempt at occluding me, and I will allow you to retire for the evening,'' Snape said, allowing this small mercy, watching Harry with a curious expression as he finished reading the page. It was not like the boy to be so pensive.

Whatever it was that was troubling him, aside from their current predicament, Snape knew he didn't want to hear any more about how much the boy despised him when he was just realising that Harry was not as unbearable as he'd always assumed.

Harry nodded and closed his eyes, mentally preparing himself for occlumency. He knew only too well that the next few minutes would be far from pleasant.

Snape waited until Harry's features were as relaxed as he thought they were going to get, before he cast the spell.

Harry, finding his mind surprisingly blank due to his fatigue, heard somewhere in the far distance Snape give a small sigh, and his voice barely above a whisper murmur, ''Leglimens...''

Harry's face twitched slightly as Snape entered his mind, though, predictably, offered no resistance.

They were both quickly transported to a place deep in the shadows of Harry's mind -- a place that could only be accessed when Harry was in this fragile state, so near to crumbling.

Snape was slipping into Harry's subconscious world, to a place Harry had never himself been, but a place he had dreamed of often.

_It didn't take the potion master long to work out where they were. He'd been to this place many times, every witch or wizard had for one reason or another. However, the corridor they were currently sprinting down was new to him... He'd certainly never been this deep into the ministry before... Harry sped up as they reached their destination, Snape could feel the adrenaline in his veins...the excitement... _

_They were in a circular room surrounded by doors. He wondered briefly what was behind them but Harry seemed to know where he was going. The images quickly changed. They were now chasing through the door directly in front of them, down a cool stone passageway. _

_The images once again blurred and they were surrounded by shelves, each bearing writing... names if he wasn't mistaken. Snape narrowed his mind's eye, too curious to consider pulling out as Harry ran along the rows counting. _

_He must have found what he was looking for as he reached up and brushed the dust away from a clouded orb. The lettering was unclear. He could feel Harry's silent exhilaration, though in an oddly detached sort of way as if it wasn't his, not even Harry's..._

_There was an overwhelming desperation for the contents of that object that could only belong to one person..._

It was over a second later. Harry, coming to his senses as Snape's own emotions became more active in his mind, threw the man's presence forcefully from the dream-memory. He found himself flat on his back, perfectly conscious but pale as a sheet, a guilty look in his eyes.

''Tell me, Potter,'' Snape snarled immediately, ignoring entirely the fact that Harry had just done a very good job at occluding him, ''...have you ever been inside the Department of Mysteries?''

Harry swallowed, his eyes darting anywhere but at the man looming over him. Occluding Snape had obviously taken a lot out of him, but his fear and anxiety were keeping him alert. He had the distinct look of a man who had been well and truly caught out.

He made a few panicky noises, shuffling back in an attempt to put some space between himself and his mentor.

Snape, in no mood for Harry's attempt to hide, as always, reached down and roughly grabbed the boy by the shoulders.

Harry made a small noise of protest. It was quickly silenced as he was pushed heavily back onto the chair on which he'd started, and fixed with an impenetrable stare.

''Answer me,'' Snape hissed, his face close to Harry's, silently threatening the denial of the truth.

Harry drew back slightly. He hadn't seen Snape look so angry for a long time, not since that day at Grimauld Place. It reminded him only too well what a dangerous man he was. Harry took a deep breath, realising that he had no choice but to tell him everything. It was just his luck that Snape had seen that particular memory.

''No, sir. I haven't,'' he answered finally.

''Of course you haven't,'' Snape replied immediately. ''Then how is it that you have it mapped out inside of your head, Potter?''

Harry gave a small shrug, taking one last shot at faking ignorance. Snape, apparently, was having none of it.

''You said that you didn't want to play games. Now is your one and only chance to be straight and up front with me. I will not give you this opportunity again. Explain.''

Harry met Snape's eyes hesitantly but they offered no comfort. He knew he had no right to ask for any, he'd done wrong this time and he knew it. Snape had deserved to know. Harry owed it to him.

''You know I could look into your mind whenever I wished, it would not be hard,'' Snape continued, mistaking Harry's silence as refusal. ''It will cause you great discomfort, as you know very well by now. I am willing to save you that pain if you just answer my question, Potter!''

''I-I dream about it,'' Harry said hurriedly, still refusing to make eye contact, his courage momentarily failing him. ''Well, I used to. A lot.''

Harry shifted in his seat and continued in obvious discomfort. ''Ever since we began occlumency...they don't happen as often. I dream about different things. I dream about-''

''It does not matter what you dream about,'' Snape cut him off sharply. He had no wishes to hear any more of the boy's awful sob stories, as sincere and worthy of recognition as they were. He couldn't afford to be weakened any further. ''Why you are dreaming of the ministry is what concerns me.''

''Right,'' Harry nodded, feeling slightly stung by this blunt remark.

Snape could withdraw compassion as quickly as he could present it. It made Harry wonder sometimes whether Snape really was ever empathetic, or was it merely an illusion he had concocted for himself to help him cope better.

Everyone knew the potions master was a heartless bastard. Was he just indulging Harry in order to get more out of him...to keep him going? The thought turned on Harry with despairing realisation, and he recognised, for the first time, just how much he'd been depending on the man and his indirect comfort.

He prayed it had not been a mistake. The sheer coldness in Snape's eyes now made him think that it was, though it would certainly make things much simpler; hating each other was so much easier than battling with all these confused emotions. He didn't know how they'd fit together any other way. They were enemies, always had been.

''Do you know what is held in the department of mysteries, Potter?'' Snape asked slowly, unaware of the conflicting emotions in Harry's mind.

He took the seat opposite Harry, forcing his wand under the boy's chin forcibly. He raised an eyebrow as Harry finally looked at his face. ''Do you?'' he repeated, his patience dwindling fast.

Harry shook his head, unsure whether he could trust Snape, no matter how much he wanted to.

''Care to have a guess?'' he asked humourlessly. ''Come on, Potter, not even you are that-''

''Prophecies?'' Harry cut in with a brief look of irritation.

Snape gave him a long, searching look. ''Correct, Mr. Potter. There are many prophecies held in the department of mysteries... Among other things.''

''Like what?'' Harry asked, curious.

''I do not know, no one does. It does not concern you. Only those who work in that place have the knowledge of its secrets, and I doubt even they can comprehend the magnitude of half what is held within those walls.''

''So why do I dream about it?'' Harry asked hesitantly. He'd wondered as to why for some time, though ever since Snape told him about the prophecies he'd sort of worked it out, even if the finalities of the theory still eluded him.

''Why have you not asked me this before?'' Snape asked suddenly with a snarl. He swept to his feet and began pacing, increasing Harry's nerves. He'd thought him and the boy had an understanding. He'd been far more accommodating to Harry's thoughts and feelings than he had been with anyone for a long time. He felt slightly hurt, in an irritated sort of way, that the boy still couldn't trust him with something like this.

''Surely the question cannot be of that importance to you, Potter,'' he bit back, angry for allowing himself to feel such a way. It just enhanced his belief that any sort of relationship brought nothing but pain and misery. ''Maybe you are taking this less seriously than you like to make out. Just an act is it, Potter? An illusion you like to create to fit your name in the papers?''

Harry looked as though he'd been slapped in the face. He'd thought he was finally getting through to Snape, and that he, of all people, had the potential to really understand what life for him was really like.

It seemed they still had a long way to go. He was in no mind to try and interpret Snape's constantly conflicting attitudes towards him. He was probably as unsure as he was about how he felt. Harry doubted whether the potion master was capable of giving a damn about anything, least of all him, when he was such a bastard whose life revolved around himself alone.

''Now who's being stupid?'' Harry said angrily, but winced suddenly in pain as his gut clenched unpleasantly. He didn't feel good. He wanted nothing more than to go to his room and sleep, to be alone. He'd had just about enough of Snape and his mind games. He wanted to sleep and for it to be over.

He got up abruptly from his chair with every intention of marching up to his room, and leaving the man to his misery.

''We are not done yet, Potter,'' Snape hissed, grabbing his arm before Harry could slip away.

Harry ripped away from him with all the force he could muster, eyes suddenly holding a spark of fire, smothered by his glazed look of tiredness. ''Please,'' he begged. ''I did what you asked. I just want t-''

''And since when does what you want to do actually matter?!'' Snape snapped, pointing Harry back to his seat. ''If you want to sleep, Potter, then I suggest you allow us to discuss this quickly, and without complaint. You must pay the consequences for your actions. A fact you are still learning I see.''

Harry sighed deeply, holding back a sob. He scrunched up his face and sat back down with practiced patience.

''Thank you,'' Snape sighed, massaging his temples.

''I still don't see why I should have told you,'' Harry muttered, still angry and wanting to hurt Snape back, ''you're not exactly the most approachable person in the world. If Dumbledore-''

''Dumbledore, Potter, is absent of this equation. Surely you have worked that out by now. It is you and me in this... mess, and we are in it alone. I am the one training you, and therefore, I must be privy to everything and anything concerning your connection with the Dark Lord. I would have thought you'd have realised the seriousness of what the Dark Lord is attempting.''

''What is he attempting?'' Harry might as well discuss it if he was forced to stay here. It would take his mind out his cramping stomach. ''It's not like anyone's bothered to tell-''

''Why is it that you think you dream of this, Potter?'' Snape asked instead, cutting across the boy.

He forced himself back into his seat. This was a complicated, though not entirely unexpected development. He'd suspected something of this nature to happen for some while. Voldemort could not remain oblivious to their connection forever. How Harry had kept this hidden from him, when he'd been digging around in his mind all week, was beyond him.

Maybe Harry was not so useless at withholding things as he'd first appeared.

''Voldemort wants it,'' Harry answered finally. ''That's why I dream about it. Because my minds linked with his... He's obsessed, so I am too. But it's not my fault-''

''If you were any good at Occlumency, you would not be having this problem.''

''But why does Voldemort want it?'' Harry asked, choosing to ignore Snape's last comment. He didn't need reminding how crap he was at occlumency. ''How does it help him? Surely he already knows-''

''No, he doesn't,'' Snape cut across him, suddenly very serious, ''he does _not_ know what the prophecy entails, and he cannot be allowed to.''

''But why-''

''Think, Potter!'' Snape snapped, ''put that able mind to use. What is it that the prophecy derives? Why would it be imperative to protect its contents from the Dark Lord especially?''

Harry thought for a moment. ''It's about him too...'' he said slowly, not wanting to say the wrong thing and aggravate Snape further. ''Does he think it will tell him who will win in the end? Out of me or him?''

''Perhaps. There are many reasons that the Dark Lord longs for the prophecy,'' Snape said, a dark look falling across his features, ''each as selfish and callous as the next. It is weapon he believes he can use against you. He is looking for a way to kill you, Potter. He wants to know how it will end. He wants nothing more at this moment in time than to see you dead. You know this.''

''So he _is_ after it...'' Harry said in a low voice, those words sounding more chilling coming out of Snape's mouth than they would anyone else's. ''He's looking for it... And that possession you told me about...You think he's trying to get me to steal it for him? By controlling me?''

Snape answered with a noncommittal inclination of his head. His anger was fading fast. He could hardly remain so when the boy remained so pathetically tired and unable to defend himself, while attempting, almost successfully, to remain alert and attentive.

''But it hasn't worked,'' Harry continued stubbornly. ''I've been too tired to dream about it. I've had...other things on my mind.''

''Indeed you have,'' Snape replied. ''I believe you own emotional feelings as of late have been as intense as the Dark Lord's desire to hear the entire of the prophecy. Therefore, they have partially, if not completely, weakened his influence over your thoughts. You are right, Potter, in thinking that your mind would be more vulnerable were you not so preoccupied.''

Harry nodded, though this thought did little to console him. ''So it's good that I'm so...so...you know, in my own past.'' He shuddered, the mere memory of the memory of his horrors making him feel cold inside. ''Then he would have even more power over me...''

''That is why we practice occlumency, Potter... I do not deny that the after-affects have been an aid to us in an indirect, unpleasant way, but they will not continue to do so for any length of time. You must learn to block your mind, or suffer the consequences of the Dark Lord's manipulation. I cannot stress how dangerous it could be if he were to get a significant hold on your mind.''

''Yes, sir-'' Harry begun, but his response was cut short by a huge yawn that wracked through his entire body.

''Bed now, Potter,'' said Snape standing up, ending their short lesson. He would ask no more of the boy tonight. ''We shall discuss this tomorrow. I will not have you falling asleep in the library.''

Harry nodded gratefully and hauled himself to his feet, but he had one last question, having forgotten his anger if not his tiredness.

''Am I safe, sir?'' he asked quietly, almost so tired now that he was not sure if he was truly awake or having a very elaborate dream. Everything was beginning to fuzz at the corners. ''Even when I can't block my mind properly...''

Voldemort's powers were greater than his own, much so and he wasn't fool enough to think that he was any sort of match at the moment. It was only a matter of time before his mind succumbed to manipulation.

Snape looked momentarily surprised that Harry would ask such a blunt question, but the look passed and was replaced with a dismal expression.

''You are never safe. Not as long as the Dark Lord lives.''

Harry swallowed and nodded in understanding as he gazed sleepily up at Snape's pale face, aged significantly with fatigue.

Snape's words were always so harshly truthful, yet Harry still doubted as to how the man truly, personally felt about it, that was much harder to decipher.

''You are, however, as safe as you can be,'' Snape added softly, on impulse. He was not comfortable with the deep seated fear that had taken up residence in the boy's eyes.

''How, sir? How do you know?'' Harry asked with disbelief.

Snape looked down at Harry's cynical expression, and knew at once his answer. It was torn from his lips before he could think to censor it, propelled by a lonely sense of pride that confirmed that he, alone, whether he wished it or not, was currently in the most significant position to protect the boy.

''Because, Harry, you are with me.'' Snape struck slightly by the truth he felt behind these words. He would protect Harry. It was his duty to, yet also it was what he, for some complicated, unstable, constantly developing reason, very much wanted, and needed to.

It was more of an obligation he felt to himself, and to Harry, rather than for any sort of sentimental reasons. He'd got the boy this far, he was going the rest of the way. Harry had his respect and his support, though whether the boy chose to accept, or even believe in it, was another matter entirely.

''You have my word... You have always had my word that I will do everything in my power to protect you,'' he continued, feeling as though it needed to be said, even if his reasons for willingly taking such a burden had changed. ''All I ask is that you apply the same amount of security on yourself. Do not let the Dark Lord in without any measure of fight, Harry, not when you have the chance to develop an effective resistance.''

Harry swallowed and nodded, as moisture built in his eyes. He felt more young, and helpless, in that moment, than he had in a long time.

Stripped of his defences, he slouched his shoulders and bowed his head, exhausted beyond reason and confused as hell. He was unsure about how he was feeling after everything Snape had said, and too tired to even try and work it out. Snape was calling him 'Harry'. He did know that it warmed him considerably, in a curious way, to think that Snape did appear to actually care, to some degree, about what happened to him.

Harry could get used to this side of Snape. He was certainly more pleasant, if snappy and callous at times. But those moments where he opened up, if just a little, were more important to Harry than he ever would have expected. It was Snape that was getting him through this, keeping him sane, and that was bound to leave its marks.

Maybe Snape was finally seeing a change. Maybe he was now seeing Harry as who he really was and not just a duplication of his father, though Harry doubted he'd ever truly know. Snape would never officially tell him such.

He knew he'd been given no choice but to trust Snape, but as time passed, Harry felt this trust given with increasing free will. For this reason, he knew he'd have to force more caution onto himself, if he didn't want to get hurt. Snape was a part-time death eater and Harry had already proven his naivety, and how potentially easily he could be manipulated. Sooner or later, he was sure the true nature of Snape's actions would become apparent.

Harry could only hope that he was honest, as his dependence on the man was growing day by day. To many, it wouldn't matter as long as the training was being completed, but to Harry, it did, being such an emotion driven person. He didn't want Snape's sympathy and he didn't want any sort of twisted pity from the man, but he did want the companionship that they had come to share, and the fragile understanding that had developed.

If that were an illusion, one of Snape's mind games, then he didn't know how he'd react. Harry simply cared too much, something Snape had been very quick to point out.

Harry looked up at his mentor, finding him watching him intently. He offered a soft, sleepy smile, and the almost tender expression that subconsciously passed across Snape's own features just confused Harry further, and for the millionth time that summer, he wished he could rip open that man's mind and find out just what was going on in there.

''I want you to go straight to sleep, Harry, do you understand?'' Snape said, his voice softly demanding, leaving no room for argument. ''You have done well today. Very well.''

The Harry before him was not the same one that had grudgingly entered his manner at the beginning of the summer, Snape saw this now. The boy had had a rough ride these past few weeks, and it was finally beginning to show. He was no longer full of the fire and energy and the defiance that he had at the start.

No, this was a Harry very near to being broken, and he would now have to be very careful. They needed Harry Potter to defeat Voldemort in one piece after all.

''Do not ruminate over what we have spoken of tonight,'' he added quietly before Harry drifted into sleep completely. ''I want you to put the Dark Lord's desires from your mind. We can deal with the dreams in time, but your waking hours need not endure it. This is not something for you to worry about, so do not burden yourself with it. The Order have been with this knowledge for some time, and we are taking measurable steps to deny the Dark Lord access to the prophecy which are proving vastly effective.''

He gave Harry a long look to make sure he understood, and was not going to do anything characteristically reckless with this new information. Snape then turned back to the penseive, feeling far too sober, and once again replaced the memories that he kept hidden.

''How come I wasn't told?'' Harry asked, trying hard to process all this with a mind that was on shutdown. ''Why didn't you tell me this when you told me about the prophecy?''

''There is only so much I am at liberty to tell you,'' Snape answered after a pause, ''you do not need to know everything, you are not a member of the Order. One day maybe, Potter,'' Snape rephrased as Harry opened his mouth to protest, ''but not now.''

''In future, I want to know,'' said Harry stubbornly, ''if it's about me and it's about Voldemort, I want to know.''

Snape's lip tilted slightly and his expression lightened for a moment.

''Is that so?'' he asked with a small would be smile, almost taken off guard by the affection he felt for Harry at this moment. The boy looked ridiculously young as he stared defiantly up at him, the demanding effect lost somewhat with his sleepy eyes and hair sticking out at every angle.

Harry's appeal to him was something that had been creeping up on him for days, but slowly he was becoming more aware of it. There was too much being emitted from the boy that demanded his respect and his protection. If their fate was to be put in the hands of a teenager, he was glad beyond words that it was this one.

Harry nodded. ''Is that a yes? You will tell me? And I promise... Any dreams, any weird memories that aren't mine...or if my scar hurts really bad...You'll be the first to know.''

Snape gave a small snort, humour evident in his eyes. ''Relentless are you not, Potter?''

He sighed as Harry continued to look hopefully up at him with red, tired eyes.

''Alright,'' he agreed, regretting it as soon as he'd said it. ''But understand that in asking me to do this, you are separating my duty to you as a mentor, to that of including you in the knowledge of any developments. It is not my job to tell you anything other than what Professor Dumbledore wishes you to know. I am doing this on my own, therefore I am obliged to take responsibility...Therefore, I can also choose where the limitations will be. What I deem unsuitable shall go unheard by your ears without argument. Understood?''

''Yep,'' Harry answered, satisfied with the deal and slightly disbelieving that Snape had actually agreed.

''I would say then, Potter that if you want this to last for the remainder of the summer, that your bargaining skills require a large amount of work,'' he added with a small smirk, wondering how the hell he was actually enjoying this conversation with a semi-conscious Potter. ''Your tact for persuasion is hardly the most effective. Perhaps fill your pockets will galleons next time you wish to ask me for something.''

It took Harry a moment to realise that Snape was joking, before he smiled at his attempt at humour. He found more layers to this man each day. ''Yes, sir. I'll keep that in mind.''

Snape held his gaze for a few more moments. ''We shall continue this in the morning if you wish,'' he said, ending their short discussion, ''but now I think you would benefit most from returning to your rooms.''

''But, sir...'' Harry said, his voice groggy and muffled from tiredness, ''tomorrow is a Sunday.'' He hadn't forgotten that Snape didn't want to see him on Sundays. That was his day, their day apart. Snape had made that very clear. It was the basis for the foundations that Snape didn't want to see Harry for any longer than necessary.

''I know,'' he answered, fully aware of the line he was crossing and disregarding it completely in a moment of recklessness.

He gave small nod to show that he understood what Harry was implying.

Harry absorbed the meaning behind these words and felt himself weighed down further, though not from further tiredness but sadness and a sense of shame. Snape shouldn't have to sacrifice his only time to himself because he, Harry, couldn't control a few stupid memories.

He'd tried so hard to be strong this summer...If only he could stay awake and master occlumency. It was his damn memories that were holding him back and his fear of them.

''It is not abnormal to be feeling this way, Harry,'' Snape said firmly, reading correctly Harry's thoughts. ''You are not weak. If there is one thing you have shown me this summer, it is that. Do not doubt it.''

Harry nodded, the reassurance warming him more effectively than any potion. If he did nothing else this summer, if he failed it all, at least he could say that he'd made no pathetic attempts. If Snape thought him worthy, how could he not be?

''Close your eyes for me,'' Snape said softy, bringing himself to stand in front of Harry even as the boy's lids were drifting shut of their own accord.

''What?'' Harry mumbled, confused and wary.

''Trust me,'' Snape said. It was not a request. He stabilized Harry with a firm grip on his shoulders and waited.

Harry sighed with exhaustion, and then nodded his acceptance. He so wanted to believe that Snape cared, it would make the whole thing so much more bearable. He liked this...Snape being nice to him. Yet he'd seen the man as a heartless miserable bastard for so long, it was hard to accept him as anything else.

Harry knew Snape wasn't a nice person and never would be, but he was a good man, Harry was sure of it. A bastard still maybe, but a man that was quickly becoming his anchor. With each passing moment, he had to believe that Snape may actually be starting to give a shit, and that both scared and enthralled him. He couldn't deny that that is what he needed most; someone to give a shit. There was no one else but Snape to offer him that kind of support, so he had no choice but to accept it for all its imperfections.

The hand left his shoulder and he swayed, but did not open his eyes. He could hear a soft murmuring somewhere in front of him, and there was a small pressure to the inside of his wrist, then a heavenly weightless feeling.

He forced open his eyes a moment later and found himself encased by the comforting warmth of his bed. He didn't even have time to feel grateful, and wonder as to this strange magic, as he quickly slipped into his dreams as if he'd never been out of them.

He knew he was not safe and that anything could happen in the long hours that he was unconscious, but it hardly mattered now that he was finally allowed to rest.


	15. Nightmares

----

Even if Snape hadn't been slowly passing Harry's bedroom in a sleepy drift towards bathroom, he doubted he would have missed the boy scream. The candle lit corridor took on an eerie, chilling atmosphere as the erratic shouting echoed off the many walls. Goosebumps enflamed on Snape's skin as he spun round abruptly.

''Potter,'' he rasped in recognition. His grogginess swiftly sharpened, his face contorting into confusion and alarm. He stared blankly at Harry's bedroom door for a moment as he wrung the handle impatiently with little effect. It was locked. Of course Harry would have locked it, Snape thought irritably, as he as he fumbled in his pocket for his wand with an uncharacteristic feeling of panic. The boy hardly trusted him enough to keep it open.

''Aloharmora,'' he hissed, forcefully yanking the heavy wood towards him.

He manouvered himself inside the room silently and tapped the candle brackets that sat either side of the door, casting a dim light across the floor. He narrowed his eyes to make out Harry thrashing around on the bed, as though he were trying to fight off some invisible demon.

Snape was at his side in an instant, clamping his palms over Harry's twisting shoulders.

''Potter!'' he called, roughly shaking him, but Harry appeared not to hear him, so consumed he was by the nightmare he was suffering.

Gasping incomprehensibe nonsense, a blindly flailing limb caught caught Snape's shin, hitting it hard.

Snape grunted in pain, immediately pinning Harry's arms to his sides so that he would not be hurt further, and moved closer, raising his voice.

''Potter,'' he tried again, gripping Harry's forearms so hard that they were likely to bruise. ''Potter. Wake!''

Snape hesitated only for a moment before bringing back his hand to slap the boy hard round the face. It was his only remaining option of waking Harry quickly and without the aid of magic. To his immense relief, it worked.

Harry's eyes shot open at the contact and he gasped, as though starved of oxygen. His eyes were wide and unfocused as they stared up at the man above him, full of such distress and pain that it caught Snape momentarily off guard. Subconsciously, he relaxed his grip on the boy's wrists.

Seemingly unaware of where he was, Harry ripped his arm from Snape's grip in a panic and punched him hard round the face, as though in self-defence. With a sickening crunch, Snape fell back, clutching his bleeding and broken nose.

Harry took a few raspy breaths as Snape pushed himself up from the floor, stumbling in a manner much void of his usual grace. It didn't take long for Harry's glazed eyes, unfocused and confused, to take on a whole new terror. His hands shot to his mouth in horror and he groaned as realisation dawned.

He scrambled out of bed, adrenaline pounding his veins.

''Professor, I…I didn't mean…I'm so sorry…'' he stammered in shock, reaching the potions master on shaky legs. He reached out to try and help in some way, but he was roughly brushed aside.

Harry backed up to the bed and sat down, shaking violently.

Snape quickly distanced himself from his student before he did something he would regret, in the form of revenge, and cast a spell to stem the flow of fast running blood that was covering the majority of his lower face. He could taste it in his mouth, feel it dribbling down his chin. He coughed in disgust but quickly became far more preoccupied by a sharp throbbing that wracked through his entire face, making his head spin.

As the pain sharpened and intensified, Harry was but a blurry, insignificant figure in the distance that he could hardly recognise. His heart pounded in his chest as he rolled up a blood drenched sleeve, and fought to remember the incantation for mending bones. He'd broken his nose twice before now, but he'd forgotten just how much it hurt.

Harry's eyes were fixed in horror as Snape muttered something, and tapped his nose with his wand. The bone immediately righted itself with another sickening crunch. Snape closed his eyes sharply against the pain, his face an ugly grimace. Harry did the same, unable to watch the morbid display.

Snape laboured breathing was deep, his face a ghostly white. A moment passed and he touched delicately the newly healed bone with shaking fingers. He gave a sharp hiss when it sent it sent a sharp spasm of pain through his face. His only thoughts now were for a pain relieving potion.

He forced open his eyes to look at Harry, to check that the boy had not also hurt himself in his outburst. Harry however, seemed unharmed, physically at least. He was sat on the edge of his bed, looking pathetically small and childlike with his hands fisted into the sheets and his eyes screwed shut.

''Open your eyes, Potter,'' he commanded, keeping his voice low so as not to startle the boy. ''It is over.''

A strange thought crossed Snape's mind, through his haze of pain, as Harry complied. The boy's eyes wary and still full of fear as they met his, and his arms were cradled round his chest in a self-protecting gesture. Snape wondered for a moment whether Harry was afraid he'd hit him. He'd been having a nightmare after all and was probably still confused.

''It is over,'' Snape repeated to reassure Harry that he was indeed safe now, both from him and his nightmare.

He moved steadily backwards, feeling slightly foolish, but he couldn't have the boy in any more of a state. It was a worthy sacrifice of his pride. This would be hard enough to sort out as it was. He knew only too well how realistic nightmares could be, and the length of time it could sometimes take to distinguish between reality and the world of dreams once it was over.

Harry hadn't meant to hurt him, that much was clear from the deep look of shame that had taken over his features, but control was something they'd worked on, and Harry had failed in restraining his emotions once again.

''I shall be back shortly,'' he said, clenching his teeth to stop himself crying out from the pain and yell himself hoarse at the boy for causing him it.

''And, Potter,'' he added as he reached the door, his vision obscured by a particularly sharp throb forced his eyes shut. If he knew the boy at all, he knew what he was planning. ''D_o not move_!''

He swept from the room to the sounds of Harry being violently sick.

---

Harry heard the door snap shut and wiped his mouth with a shaky hand, the taste of vomit making his face screw up. His t-shirt was wet with sick, as was a large portion of his sheets and the floor also which only added to his self-disgust.

He was half out of bed when he realized that he hadn't legs to stand on, even if he did really want to run away. He doubted he'd get very far anyway, even if he was healthy, before Snape hunted him down and cursed his balls off.

He didn't even have the strength to make it to the bathroom to wash himself of the grossness that he found himself in. His arms and legs felt unnaturally heavy, as did the rest of his body.

Harry didn't know how long he sat there alone on his bed, drenched in sweat and tears, shaking violently and wondering whether or not Snape was going to come back. He was hoping for the latter. This was too embarrassing... too horrible.

The only sounds in the silence was his own heavy, uneven breathing which only made him feel worse. His scar throbbed as a constant reminder of his nightmare, causing fresh waves of horrifying memory to keep him tense, rigid and unable to return to sleep.

Harry swallowed and coughed against the repulsive taste in his mouth and throat. He knew a freshening charm but it was useless when he couldn't even lift a finger. He was too weak.

He had been expecting something like this to happen. It was inevitable. The nightmares were bound to get worse, more terrible and agonizingly real, but never had he expected it to go to this extreme. Occlumency had opened up a whole new window of his mind that left him more vulnerable than ever to the demons of his past…and his present. Never before had he seen his fears in such terrifying clarity and the worst thing was, this was no dream, no nightmare that ended as you woke up reassured that it was all over. No, this was _real._ This was his life, and just because he woke up drenched in sweat and horror, the nightmare didn't end.

He couldn't say now what the nightmare had been about exactly, and even if he could, he'd be reluctant to remember it. All he could recall now was fear and a desire for it to end, whether it be through his death or waking he hadn't cared. It just had to be over.

Harry kept his eyes wide open in fear of returning back to that dark place.

As time passed agonizingly slowly, he continued to shiver, his temperature diverting at an alarming rate between hot and cold. He couldn't settle, sure that he was now suffering much more than just the after effects of the nightmare. He was ill. Harry groaned loudly as realisation dawned. This was the last thing he needed.

His body was wracked with tremors as he sat shaking, feeling so vulnerable and small in his weakness. His eyes clamped shut of their own accord as the crack of Snape's nose breaking replayed out in his mind like some sick horror movie. He fought back a second wave of nausea.

Snape was not going to be happy and not just about the broken nose. Harry had failed to confide in him yet again. The nightmares had been getting steadily worse over the last few days, on occasion unbearably so.

If Snape hadn't heard him tonight, if Harry had been more careful, he may never have known. But as Harry continued to shiver, feeling increasingly feverish, he knew no matter how hard he tried, he wouldn't have been able to keep it a secret much longer. This illness had been a long time coming.

Harry jerked as the door swung open and Snape re-appeared. His eyes widened and he instantly felt sick again as his mentor moved into the room, his nose thankfully looking just as big and hooked as it ever was. He hesitated in the doorway, and Harry could feel critical eyes roam over him, but he didn't look up, terrified about what was to follow. It would be better if Snape were to shout. It was either that or interrogation, and he couldn't take answering any questions right now.

Snape glided towards him, stopping a few feet from the bed to mutter a cleansing charm. Harry's face burned with humiliation as the stickiness on his face and shirt disappeared. The bed next to him dipped as Snape sat by his feet.

''Drink this,'' he instructed, holding out a potion.

Harry took the offering, grateful for the relief it would bring, even if it would only be temporary. He could feel Snape watching him and raised the potion to his lips, after a short a murmur of thanks, without once meeting his eyes. He didn't want to see the look on his face.

After a few minutes, Harry's breathing evened out, but he continued to shiver, even though his skin felt hot to the touch.

Snape frowned as he prised the empty vial from Harry's hands.

''Can you stop shaking, Potter?'' he asked, setting it aside. It was a question not a command, issuing no threat, which Harry noted with relief.

He shook his head, appreciating the fact that Snape was not yet ordering him to act more macho, and start doing star jumps or something, like half of him suspected. He hadn't imagined Snape the empathetic type when it came to others illness, and was deeply grateful that he was at least being reasonable.

''I don't feel…'' Harry swallowed with a wince, his throat very dry. ''I don't feel good, sir.''

Snape nodded his acknowledgment and Harry felt his chin being taken by a forefinger and thumb and, surprisingly gently, moved to the side. Snape's face swam into view and Harry had no choice but to look at him. He realised only now that there were a number of Snape's dancing in his vision, none staying still long enough for him to get a clear picture. He closed his eyes, feeling dizzy, but the pressure on his chin intensified and he opened them again.

Harry forced himself to concentrate and slowly the room became sharper. He almost wished it hadn't as he became aware of Snape's gaze all over his face, in his eyes, in his head...everywhere, burning into his skin.

He fought to move away, uncomfortable and humiliated at being in such a state, but Snape would not allow it. Harry knew what Snape was trying to do, even though, for the first time, he could not physically feel him doing it.

Snape fell into Harry's mind with little effort. When the boy showed no signs of pain or even recognition, he pushed a little harder. His eyes flickered with unchecked emotion as he viewed Harry's nightmare through occlumency. Harry sat impassive, detached entirely from the process. He couldn't even summon the energy to feel angry at Snape for using his vulnerability against him, and looking into his mind without consent.

''What am I viewing, Potter?'' Snape murmured with a sudden suspicion, tilting Harry's head and shaking gently to get some reaction.

Harry looked back helplessly. He had no idea. He could read enough of Snape's face to know that this wasn't good.

It was over in a matter of minutes. Snape released Harry's face sharply, with a look of extreme disdain, that let Harry know all that he needed to. Snape had witnessed his nightmare, or at least the main part of it, and was far from happy.

''How long have you been sleeping this restlessly?'' he asked abruptly.

Harry gulped, shrugging in the hope that Snape would let the matter drop. However, that was not to be the case, as he very well knew.

''A long while?'' Snape forced Harry to look at him once again as his gaze dropped, ''Hmm?''

Snape was well aware that Harry did not sleep well and had been more prone to these nightmares since occlumency began, but never did he think for one moment that they'd reached this level. If he had, he could have done something about it.

The thought of the boy being so deeply traumatized within the confines of his own mind, unable to wake himself and gain release from its torment, while he, his teacher and mentor, slept on unaware, just metres down the hall, was enough to turn his insides cold.

Harry felt a wet line slowly curve a line down his face. He reached up with his hand and angrily brushed the tear away, angry with himself for showing such a weak emotion.

Snape watched Harry closely, disturbed at the sudden weakness that seemed to overcome the boy. He was slow and lethargic in his movements, and he looked like absolute hell. He longed to comfort the boy in some overwhelming desire to bring him back to his usual, arrogant self, that he was much more comfortable with dealing with, but to do so would only allow Harry to succumb further.

If Snape was honest, he could not see himself making a move to willingly touch the boy, and perhaps draw him into a hug in order to give comfort. Where would he start? What would he say? Harry would yield to physical reassurance easily, he knew, and that made him all the more reluctant to refrain from giving it. Harry would only regret allowing himself to be consoled by his greasy potions master come his recovery.

Snape's voice dropped to a low murmur as he spoke again but, despite his efforts to be quiet and unintimidating, Harry jerked slightly at the sound of his voice as it broke the momentary silence that had fallen between them.

''Would I be correct...Harry, in saying that these nightmares have been troubling you since the incident at the end of term...or perhaps longer?'' he asked, fearing as to the answer.

Harry had certainly not been in a good way when he'd collected him at the beginning of the summer but he hadn't cared then. If anything, the boy's lack of stability had pleased him, giving him some satisfaction in seeing him bear pain, but now he could not dredge up any such feelings.

This discontent went deeper into the boy than he'd known, and he could only blame himself for not being more attentive to it. If he had been, he could have brought a stop to this disaster before it began. Now he was stuck with a very sick Potter.

Harry managed a small, almost non-existent nod of his head. Snape acknowledged it grimly with a firm nod of his own.

''You weren't supposed to know,'' Harry spoke finally, meeting Snape's eyes with a little more confidence as he collected himself, ''I could've-''

''Could have _what_, Potter?'' Snape cut him off sharply. ''What exactly were to trying to achieve by keeping this to yourself? These dreams have been far worse than you've led me to believe.'' There was clear disapproval in his voice now, and something that sounded almost like disappointment. ''I understand that you may not wish to talk about this, but if you do not alert me to the fact that you are suffering a problem, I cannot help you.''

''I know,'' Harry agreed reluctantly. He closed his mouth again quickly as his stomach began churning again. He would _not _throw up over Snape.

''Have no doubt that we will speak of this, if not now then sometime in the near futu-'' Snape stopped abruptly as Harry started to retch again uncontrollably. It took a few moments for him to control it, before he straightened up, gasping.

He tried to ask what was wrong with him, and form some sort of apology, but he couldn't summon the courage to put his throat through the pain of using his voice any more than was strictly necessary.

''You are ill,'' Snape said simply, reading the question anyway. He tried for Harry's sake to keep the look of extreme distaste from his face, but failed. He never had felt comfortable dealing with the sick, not that he'd ever been in this situation before. He was hardly the ideal nurse.

He cleared his throat and returned his attention to Harry's red, watery eyes, trying to ignore the rapid shaking of the boy's shoulders. ''A fever perhaps, I cannot yet tell. Your mental defence system is virtually ineffective. All means you may have previously had of resisting occlumency, however limited, are now lost.''

They looked at each other for a moment as they both took in the true significance of this fact. It was all over. The training would have to stop.

When Harry began to slump as his remaining strength dwindled, Snape blinked, and seeming to remember something, he rose once again to his feet.

The bed dipped again and Harry watched Snape move across the room to his mirror. He studied himself in it with an inquiring stare, and for a moment Harry was confused, thinking that maybe he'd gone mad or was still dreaming. He hadn't thought for one moment that Snape was a vain man, but a short moment later he must have seen something that Harry could not as he nodded, and muttered something incomprehensible, giving an assertive nod as he did so.

Harry must have blinked because a few seconds later, Snape was striding back towards him with another set of potions in his hand.

''How did you…?'' Harry croaked, open mouthed, struggling to make sense of Snape's actions.

Snape gave him a curious look. ''Here you are on the brink of a very dangerous fever, Potter,'' he muttered, shaking his head slightly, ''and you're asking me what _I_ am doing…''

''That's what I have then, sir?'' Harry asked, his attention diverted. ''You're sure? A...fever?''

Snape regard him for a long moment, a strange, almost disappointed look in his eyes, before inching the cuffs of his robes up an inch, so that they were no longer covering the majority of his hands. He frowned slightly as he brought up his palm, hesitating for a moment before placing it delicately upon Harry's sweaty forehead.

Harry cringed away from the ice cold touch, but didn't make a sound, watching Snape's face carefully, hoping for the best but expecting the very worst.

''I am no healer but I would indeed, in my inexpertise, diagnose you with a fever,'' Snape said with a small grimace, bringing back his hand and concealing it once more. Harry groaned.

''Of what sort I am at a loss,'' he continued, ignoring the reaction, ''unfortunately the body is not greatly adept at dealing well with the demands of occlumency. Needless to say, your training will need to be postponed, if not cancelled completely-''

''What?'' Harry asked, straightening up, suddenly much more alert. They'd both been thinking it, but for Snape to vocalise it this way, with such finality, was far worse. ''_No_, you can't-''

''We have no choice,'' Snape snapped, suddenly stern. ''Drink this while I alert the headmaster-''

''No,'' Harry repeated, a stubborn frown creasing his forehead. ''Sir, I'm fine. Really I am. You don't have to get him.''

He forced his muscles to work, getting to his feet to show exactly that, but found, to his dismay, he couldn't keep his balance. He was too weak; his legs didn't stand a chance. His head began to swim and he swayed, feeling as though he would pass out.

He heard a small snort and felt himself being firmly pushed back onto the bed.

''Yes, Potter, a picture of health,'' Snape said with a satisfied smirk, his point proven. ''Not only has your mind been compromised but your physical health also. The two are not unrelated. It shall take time for you to heal, you must be patient.''

Harry glared, though he couldn't argue any further. He felt disappointed and annoyed, as well and unbearably sick and tired. He couldn't continue with his training all because he couldn't handle a bit of stupid mind-reading.

Snape gave him a look which made Harry sure he knew exactly what he was thinking, but obviously decided now was not the time for that discussion. After pushing the potion back into Harry's hands, he made from the room to contact Dumbledore.

''Your nose, sir…'' Harry called to his retreating form, in as strong a voice as he could manage. ''I didn't mean…I was dreaming and…I just...I _am _sorry,'' he continued helplessly, the sincere apology clear on his face.

''You are not in trouble, Potter,'' Snape assured him impatiently, assuming that Harry's fear was of punishment and not for his own wellbeing. ''You hardly have enough strength to do any real damage. Besides, physical wounds heal. There are others far worse... though I must warm you now that I have no intention of becoming your personal punch bag.''

Harry's pale cheeks tinted ever so slightly and he bowed his head, knowing that Snape had made it clear that, although he would allow his lapse in control to pass punishment this time, he would not be so generous again.

''Yes, sir. But...I know I should have...'' He swallowed thickly and with great difficulty, but ignored his discomfort with speaking for the moment. He needed to explain himself. ''I should have told you...about the nightmares...and about the dreams about the ministry...about everything... I am sorry for that...and your nose. I never wanted to hurt you.''

Snape frowned, becoming slightly impatient. ''I have already told you, Potter. I do not wish to punish you-''

''That's not what I mean!'' Harry snapped back, irritated. He didn't know why, now of all times, that it mattered so much that Snape understood what he meant. Maybe it had something to do with the recklessness he was feeling, aided by the extreme tiredness that once again threatened to overcome him.

''I am sorry for hurting _you.''_

Snape's eyes widened marginally as he finally took in what Harry was saying. He opened his mouth to reply with nothing more than indifference, but failed quite miserably to concoct an adequate response.

He wanted more than anything to snort and brush the sentimental apology aside, but he shuddered to think how he would feel if their positions were reversed, and somehow he had inadvertedly hurt the boy. He could not yet say why this thought discomforted him so, and had no desire at present to analyse it.

Therefore, he gave a short, uncomfortable nod to show his acceptance and Harry instantly relaxed, moulding himself back against the pillows with a small, painful sigh.

Snape's looked at him intently for a few more moments, a question behind his dark eyes that Harry could not see, before he dropped his gaze to his watch, a sudden urgency in his voice. ''I shall be back shortly. Do not do anything rash or you shall deeply regret it...That includes any sort of self harm, Potter. You are not to leave that bed, do you understand?''

Harry nodded, though the promise was an unnecessary one. He couldn't stand even if he wanted to.

''I suggest you try to get some rest,'' Snape added, backing out of the room, ''and drink that potion, Potter. I do not give my resources lightly.''

Harry complied and was instantly grateful as the potion began to work its magic. His stomach settled a little and he felt some life return to his limbs. For a while this was sufficient, until he made a movement too sharp for his senses.

The change in his position did not suit his weakened stomach, despite the potion, and another wave of sickness swept over him before he could even contemplate trying to get to the bathroom.

* * *

Snape swept along the landing of his mansion in haste, a pounding in his chest that had nothing to do with the speed that he was walking. Harry may not yet know the extent of his illness, but he did. He berated himself for his stupidity. He'd pushed the boy too far, too fast.

There was only so much that Harry could take and it had been his duty to acknowledge that, and take the appropriate measures. A mix of physical exhaustion, the constant breaking of his mental walls and the replaying of his most horrendous memories, along with what had happened before the training even started, had finally caught up with the boy.

Snape had no idea what would happen now…what Dumbledore would choose to do.

Harry was in constant danger when his mind was so weak, but that was as equally rivalled by the seriousness of his decline in physical health. This was no ordinary fever and couldn't be treated as such.

Snape threw open the door to his personal chambers. Passing quickly by his own four poster, he took a generous handful of flew powder from the mantelpiece. He flicked his wand at the empty grate which had been left unused for the duration of his stay, no matter what the weather, and instantly flames appeared, roaring merrily as if it'd been going for hours.

He threw in the powder and strode to his wardrobe where he grabbed a pair of black trousers. He pulled them on as the flames turned green, as well as a worn travelling cloak, not wishing to be mocked, by whomever he may meet, for his casual night-time attire.

It wasn't until he'd stepped into the emerald flames, and opened his mouth to speak, that he realized he had no idea where to find Dumbledore. He doubted he'd be at Hogwarts at such a busy time, but that only left one other possible, reachable location. It wasn't as though he owned an owl, which made contact rather more problamatic. Dumbledore knew this, though he probably hadn't counted on an emergency such as this.

A deep scowl adorned Snape's features and he stepped out of the fire, his face tense and rigid. He thought for a moment, exploring every other option, but he knew he had no choice, and he was wasting precious time searching for one. There was only one other place he could try that held any glimmer of hope.

Snape gripped his cloak more firmly around himself and turned sharply, landing less than a second later on the doorstep of Grimauld Place.

Darkness pressed on him from every side from a starless sky, the summer night air pleasantly warm on his skin, a sharp contrast to how he felt on the inside. He regarded the old wooden door of number 13 with a disdainful expression. He was sure to regret this no matter what the outcome.

Incredibly reluctantly, and with only the thought of Harry, white as a sheet and retching like a man possessed, he made a fist and rapped twice on door.

To his immense and not entirely unpleasant surprise, it was Minerva McGonagall that opened the door to him. Her eyes were narrowed and cautious, her lips pursed as she tried to make him out the mysterious figure in the shadows of the doorway.

She held up her lit wand and the beams of light fell across Snape's face.

He shut his eyes against the intrusion in annoyance and brushed past her into the house without a greeting.

''Severus,'' she gasped, though she visibly relaxed as she closed the door briskly behind him. ''We wern't expecting...What on earth are you doing here? Albus said you were-''

''Is the headmaster here?'' he asked quickly, cutting her off, noting as his eyes flickered over her face, how tired and strained she looked.

She, in turn, was watching him with similar intensity, their respect for each other's wellbeing shown in the sharpening of their eyes if not in their words. As much as the woman irritated him, standing for everything in his opposite, she was one of the rare people he'd hoped to run in on such an occasion as tonight.

He just hoped she would pick up on the urgency in his voice. He was in no mood for idle conversation.

''The headmaster?'' she repeated with a concentrated frown.

Snape inclined his head, breaking eye contact. She was far too incisive for his comfort, and he wanted no one to know of this little mishap other than Dumbledore at present. ''I must speak with him.''

McGonnagall gave him a curious look before she began re-locking the front door back up, replacing the many wards without immediately answering. He watched her impatiently and a thought struck him.

''What are you doing here? I assumed you would be at Hogwarts at a time like this.''

She turned back to him, apparently satisfied that all safety precautions had been taken. She offered to take his coat but he shook his head, inching further into the house with sharp glances around at the miserable hovel that he'd come to despise so quickly.

Nothing had changed noticeably since his last visit, except there were a few extra coats hanging by the door; members of the order staying the night or else working late. Never him of course. He almost pitied them.

''I'm here because Dumbledore wishes it. The Order is very busy and our numbers are stretched almost to breaking point. Do you plan to stay yourself, Severus?'' McGonagall replied, continuing to look at her colleague over closely, though he evaded her eyes.

He shook his head sharply to disconcert any such notion. ''I am here to see Albus. It is of the upmost importance.'' She didn't need to worry about Harry. Dumbledore was depending on him to do this. She had her own work, and far too much of it he was sure. He wouldn't burden her with this problem, despite his trust in her and her capability, as much as he was reluctant to admit it.

''I'm afraid he's not here. He hasn't been here in days-'' she said, clearly surprised.

''Then I must leave.'' Snape eyes darted further into the house, wanting to be out of here before he met up with someone he really didn't want to see.

''Severus,'' McGonagall said again, catching him by the arm before he could disappear. ''What's going on? Where is Mr. Potter?''

She was obviously assuming this was to do with Voldermort, and that he had information to be passed on. Snape didn't bother to correct her.

She continued to look at him anxiously and Snape sighed, his lips forming a tight line. He knew she cared about the boy but honestly, did nobody trust him alone with him?

''He is at my manor, quite safe. There is simply a matter I wish to discuss with the headmaster-''

''Snivelly!'' a loud voice barked, interrupting their hurried conversation.

Snape closed his eyes in slow motion, back turned against the unwelcome sound, his jaw clenching along with his fists at his side. Slowly he turned round and gave Sirius a condescending smirk, using all his control to remain calm.

He'd already decided he wouldn't tell Sirius about Harry. He'd probably kill him for one thing, though there many reasons, or more like excuses. He didn't want the man anywhere near his house and it brought him a strong sense of satisfaction keeping something like this from him.

But for the most part, although he knew he had no right, Snape felt an unusual sense of responsibility over Harry. He needed to be the one to deal with this, having played such a heavy part in causing him this illness, unintentionally or not. He didn't need Sirius interfering and accusing at a time like this, it would just make things worse.

''Ah, Black, still here are we?'' he smirked, able to enjoy this part of the exchange at least. ''Locked up like a dog in a cage. Tell me, what is it you've been doing these last few weeks, except play mascot for the Order-''

''Where's Harry?'' Sirius cut across him, stepping forward. He looked about as though expecting him to appear at any moment.

Snape's eyes quickly raked over the other man's face, which appeared, if possible, even rougher than the last time he'd been forced to visit this place. His once immaculate hair was filthy, his skin pale and sallow- in a similar condition to Snape's own for which he'd been mocked for so long- and he appeared even thinner than he had been before, despite the fact he could not be at any lack of food. His obvious disregard of his own personal hygiene surprised Snape, as the man had once been extremely vain.

Sirius wasn't oblivious to Severus's disapproving gaze, and gave a snarl which was more animal than human.

''Where is he?'' he asked again, anger flaring in his eyes.

''Always jumping to the worst conclusions aren't you, Black? Your rash nature will not get you nowhere-'' Snape mocked.

''Snape, I swear if you don't tell me-'' Sirius warned.

''He's safe, Sirius, he's safe!'' McGonagall interrupted them both with a nasty look at Snape. ''He's at Severus' manor, asleep I presume?'' She looked at Snape for confirmation, and with a small smirk, he nodded.

''And you left him there? Alone?'' Sirius asked in disbelief. ''When Dumbledore hears about this-''

''I am in fact looking for the headmaster at this very moment, if you'd care to be any assistance,'' Snape said loud enough to override Sirius, rolling his eyes at the dramatics. ''Potter is quite safe. There is merely an urgent matter I wish to discuss with Dumbledore.''

Sirius narrowed his eyes, his concern for his godson and distrust of Snape clear in his eyes. ''To do with Harry?''

Snape looked at Sirius, an eyebrow slightly raised, and refused to answer his question, knowing it would infuriate the man further.

''What have you done?'' Sirius demanded, taking a threatening step forward.

Snape's lips curled into a twisted grin, not denying the sheer pleasure it brought him to see Sirius in distress. ''That is not your concern, Black. It is mine, I believe, seeing as... _Harry_ is presently in mypersonal care and not yours.''

Sirius's eyes flashed which only heightened Snape's amusement further. Sirius opened his mouth to argue, but a figure at the top of the stairs caught his eye, and his curses caught in his throat and he forced himself to be silent.

''Professor Snape! What are you doing here?''

Snape once again felt the urge to hit something.

''Good evening, Miss. Granger,'' he said in mock politeness, his cold eyes turning on her with irritation. His eyes drifted down to her footwear and he smirked. ''Is Mr. Weasley aware of the alluring attire in which you wear to bed?'' he asked.

He raised his eyebrows at her confused expression, and looked pointedly at her pink, bunny slippers. She glowed scarlet and pulled her dressing gown tighter around herself in a protective gesture.

''Ron's not my-'' she begun, flustered.

''Really, Miss. Granger, I couldn't care less.'' He turned away from her, back to the only other person he considered sane in this house. ''Minerva, where can I find the headmaster?''

''Where's Harry?'' Hermione spoke again, worry evident in her voice.

Snape gritted his teeth.

''I think we'd all like to know that,'' Sirius said loudly, eyes dark with hatred and distrust as he folded his arms, and leaned against the banister, though he looked anything but relaxed.

''Minerva?'' Snape repeated, ignoring them.

''I…'' she frowned at Snape in confusion, unsure of his true purpose, and which side to take in this argument. Her loyalty to her colleague eventually won. She trusted Snape, unlike the others in the room, and decided to honour that. ''I honestly don't know where he is, Severus,'' she replied apologetically.

Sirius gave a loud snort and she turned on him with a brief look of irritation. ''Please Sirius,'' he hissed. ''If you cannot be mature, I suggest you leave-''

''He's hiding something,'' Sirius stated but McGonagall silenced him before he continue further.

''Harry is quite safe with Severus, Sirius,'' she said calmly, though anger underlined her words. ''He is trying to save the boy, not murder him, don't be so ridiculous.''

''Thank you,'' Snape bowed his head, a small smirk still playing round the corners of his mouth. He made sure Sirius saw it before he turned back to McGonagall and raised an eyebrow.

''You were saying...?''

''None of us has seen him,'' she answered smoothly, though Snape could see the worry at the corners of her eyes. ''He contacted the ministry at the beginning of the week,'' she continued, her voice strained but controlled, ''but since then, he's been a mystery. You know what Albus is like...One minute he's here, and then he's not...''

He and Harry were not the only ones been kept at a distance then, Snape thought. The disturbance in McGonnagall's voice told him her worries were as real as his own.

Snape cursed abruptly and loudly, without restraint. He didn't know who he was more furious with, himself or Dumbledore. This had been a complete waste of time. McGonnagall let out a small gasp in shock at his language, narrowing her eyes in disapproval with a sideways glance at Hermione and the other young faces that were beginning to appear at the top of the landing.

''Severus-'' she begun but he sneered his disinterest in her rebuke, turning his back on them and taking down the wards on the door with a brief flick of his wand.

''If Albus decides to grace any of you with his presence let me know will you,'' he said tersely and swept towards the door, ignoring all the calls that followed him.

''Snape, if you touch a hair on Harry's head-'' Sirius yelled after him before Snape cut him off.

He shut the door with a deliberate slam, knowing that although he could not hear the wails of Mrs. Black, the entire of the house would be woken with them.

He cursed Dumbledore and his unreliability as he breathed in once again the summer night air. He'd said he'd be there if Snape needed him. Now he did and where was Albus Dumbledore? He could be on the moon for all the good it was doing Snape.

He just couldn't do this on his own.

* * *

Snape arrived back at his manor a few minutes later, his brief trip to Grimauld Place having proved pointless, and immediately his thoughts turned to Harry. He glanced at his watch. He'd been gone just ten minutes, not even Harry could get himself into much trouble in that short time.

Nevertheless, he made his way quickly back down the hallway to Harry's room. He ignited the torches attached to the walls as he went, ignoring the surly glances from the portraits he passed as they grumbled their curses at being woken so rudely.

Harry was sat in the same place Snape had left him, though now he was covered once again, in what Snape could only guess was his own sick. It certainly smelt like it.

He stepped forward and it took a moment for him to separate Harry from the argument he'd just had with Black. Harry was not the same person. This Harry was in pain and Dumbledore wasn't here, and neither was Sirius. There was only him to deal with this.

Harry glanced up at him as he got closer, looking disorientated and horribly weak, though the look of relief that crossed his face as Snape returned was still clear.

''Did you find him?'' he croaked in such a pathetic way that Snape had to keep himself from grimacing.

He shook his head, equally relieved that Harry had not managed any further great disaster in his absence. ''It looks as though you shall get your wish for now, Potter. Nobody seems to know of his exact whereabouts.''

''Sirius?'' Harry asked hopefully and Snape felt a strange feeling in his gut. It could've been something akin to resentment, but it was quickly stamped upon. Jealousy was not something he had felt for years, and he would not start now.

He'd meant to hurt Sirius by not telling him about Harry, not the other way round. Snape, however, was forced to accept that he may have just made a very selfish decision that would cost Harry a great deal. Of course Sirius would be much better in his place at a time like this.

Regardless, his presence would not be held off for long. Sirius would find out what had happened sooner or later, and Snape would have to face that tedious occasion when it came. As for the moment, he had no idea how to handle somebody in this state, least of all Harry Potter, saviour of them all.

''I did not tell him of your condition,'' he confessed and, to his surprise, Harry nodded in apparent approval.

''Good,'' he murmured.

''I suggest you get yourself cleared up properly,'' Snape said finally, deciding to question the boy on this later when his responses may be more legible. The stench that seemed to intoxicate the entire room was too much for him to bear. How Harry could sit in it proved just how awful he must be feeling. ''If you think that you are capable...''

''I'll try...'' Harry said, though he'd little hope as to any success he may achieve on moving at all.

''You look terrible and I shall not even begin to describe how vile you smell, Potter,'' Snape commented unnecessarily as Harry attempted to stand. He flicked his wand to evaporate the mess, ignoring Harry's burning face.

Harry gave a weak snort, even through his humiliation, which was an encouraging sign. He couldn't help feeling slightly bitter, however, as he knew it was partly down to Snape he had reached this state, so wasn't feeling all that warm to his presence.

''I'm sorry for waking you, sir,'' he said as he stood up, swaying slightly as he did so. He knew Snape probably wanted to be as far away from him as possible right now. ''I'll be fine now, thank you.''

Harry waited for Snape to leave, but once again he refused to do what Harry wanted.

''Get cleaned up, Potter,'' he repeated.

He felt the worst thing he could do now would be to leave the boy alone. If there was no one more able to assist the sick boy, then he'd have to do his best to ensure that he didn't have another death on his conscience.

Harry took a step forwards but, predictably, his body seemed unable to coordinate. His legs gave way again and he stumbled forwards.

Snape swore, something he seemed to be doing more and more lately, quickly taking in the boy's green complexion. He grabbed Harry by the collar and none too ceremoniously dragged him towards the bathroom, where he proceeded to heave his cuts up into the sink.

Snape averted his eyes, having no wish to witness the contents of Harry's dinner rematerialize.

Harry coughed as his stomach constricted for the last time, bringing up more bile than anything else. He felt cold hands take his clammy face, and force it upwards so that it could not hit anything as he slipped into an exhausted heap on the floor.

He didn't hear what Snape was murmuring as he was cleaned up in a way much more gentle than he was used to, but by the soft tone of his voice, he guessed the words were meant to be consoling and in a strange, distant way, it was. Harry could've fallen asleep. He'd lost his bearings as every bone in his body seemed to relax after the stress it had been under.

He jumped slightly and groaned as the cold hand returned to his face, wiping away the remaints of sick that the cleaning spell had missed.

Harry cringed, unable to believe what was happening. Snape must hate him more than ever.

''Is that all?'' a distant voice asked, and Harry, unaware of what the question meant, nodded numbly, wanting nothing more than to sleep. The floor would do fine.

Snape sighed at Harry's lack responsiveness.

''Come on, Potter,'' he grunted under the dead weight that was the boy, as he heaved him to his feet.

Harry rested awkwardly against his chest, reluctant to open his eyes and acknowledge his surroundings, for which Snape was partially grateful. Harry would never forgive himself for using him this way, and being so dependent.

He clamped a hand firmly to the boy's thin shoulder and pushed him gently away from him. With the amount he'd brought up already, Snape was confident that Harry would not be sick again. He pulled the boy towards the sink and encouraged him to wash his hands and face. It felt completely strange and awkward for him to be doing this for Harry, but the boy offered no complaint, apparently exhausted out of embarrassment, which made it easier on both of them.

Harry let himself be led from the bathroom. Half of his weight was on Snape, though he heard no complaints and guiltily relaxed more against the warm pressure keeping him upright. Harry was released at his bed and sat for a few moments, completely drained, before crawling back between the sheets.

Snape was moving across the room to the windows, throwing it open to let in fresh air. He turned back and, after a moments thought, flicked his wand and room instantly smelled fresh. Harry flinched as the wand was next pointed at his face, but moments later he felt the pleasant effects of a freshening spell, removing all the grime that the water and previous spells had missed.

''Thanks,'' Harry muttered absently, his eyes closing of their own accord. The nights events had completely drained the last out of him, though there was still something niggling at him, unwilling to let him sleep properly for fear of returning to nightmares.

''I suggest you get some sleep, Mr. Potter,'' Snape suggested, unnecessarily, as Harry wearily massaged his temples. ''We shall speak of this in the morning.''

Harry sighed heavily, too tired to argue. ''Alright,'' he muttered, wondering why on earth Snape wasn't yelling at him, when he'd been looking for nothing but an opportunity all summer to prove to him just how weak and incapable he was. This was the perfect opportunity.

Yet he knew, even as he thought it, that teasing and 'I told you so's were likely to be the last thing on his mentor's mind. Snape's actions tonight were enough to tell him that. This was just a further show of what Snape was truly capable of when he put his mind to it. It was almost amazing to see such a difference in his behaviour, and it didn't take much for Harry to decide which side of the man he preferred.

The burning desire to hurt him, that had always been in Snape's eyes, was not so heavily dominant anymore. Harry noticed that more plainly now, and could only hope that it would last. Snape didn't strike him as someone much empathetic to the needs of others, but he'd done a good job looking after him tonight so far, and his presence was strangely comforting.

Harry gave Snape a small, unintentional smile. Their gazes met and there it was again; worry lurking at the back of the man's eyes, carefully suppressed.

Snape handed him another vial with a gentleness that did not match the hard lines of his face. ''Dreamless sleep,'' he explained.

Harry took it without comment. There was a pleasant drowsiness, and sense of calm, that had consumed him since Snape's return, and he now felt, strangely, quite willing to try and relax properly again.

Harry was hit hard in that moment as he realised that, against his better judgement, he'd come to trust Snape utterly and completely. There was no question as to his preference for the man's presence, whether he liked it or not. It made him feel safe. He would likely suffer for allowing himself to become dependent on someone as hostile as Snape, but right now he couldn't care less.

Harry had taken only a few drops when his head hit the pillow, and he was being drawn back into the darkness of sleep, this time with no fear.

Snape sighed heavily as he watched Harry's eyes fall closed, as though in slow motion. He was completely lost about how to deal with this situation, and Harry's abrupt change of behaviour. He was so used to the boy being so assertive and defiant, that this complete reversion was a shock to the system.

If only Harry had asked him for this potion before, none of this needed to have happened. Maybe he was more unapproachable than he'd thought. But how was he to deal with that? He'd tormented the boy for years. He'd hardly win his complete confidence in just a few short weeks. He'd be incredibly lucky to gain it at all, ever.

Snape cast his eyes about the room, suddenly restless, though he couldn't think of anything to distract himself with, at present, that would be appropriate in increasing Harry's comfort and help him heal any faster. Now all he could do was wait and analyse any change in his condition when morning came.

He watched Harry's peaceful form for a few moments and then, making a split second decision, shrugged out of his cloak and trousers, which were uncomfortable over his slacks, and summoned a chair.

Snape dropped into thought as his tired eyes rested pensievely on Harry. He glanced aside, stubbornly, when he became aware he was staring. He wouldn't let himself get any more emotionally involved than he had to. The boy was just ill. It was curable...It had to be.

Snape searched for a different topic to occupy his mind, which he found in the complete and utter mess that was the room he'd lent Harry. The boy had successfully managed to destroy, in the few, short weeks he had spent here, the entire space of the room, which considering its huge size, was saying something.

Books, parchment, clothes and a number of other foreign objects had been slung around with such disregard that Snape was sure it had been done with nothing less than total deliberation. For what reason he didn't know, though he could accurately guess that Harry's habit of wearing his heart on his sleeve had played a part in the hot tempered behaviour, and typical teenage disregard, that had most likely caused this disarray.

Harry did have such an unusual capacity for such raw emotion, more so than he'd ever seen in any one person. With a soft snort of disapproval, Snape thanked Merlin that he had no children of his own.

He shifted awkwardly to make himself more comfortable, resigned to watching over the boy for the night. He attempted feebily to assure himself that the possibility of Harry's death did not bother him, as he scanned the thin, pasty face for any further signs of distress, but gave up this notion fairly quickly, however, as his stomach lurched unpleasantly, clearly protesting.

Snape gave a small, weary sigh, blaming his softening perception on his own fatigue. When he was sure Harry seemed at peace, he picked up the potion vial, which had slipped from the boy's sweaty grasp in unconsciousness, and set it delicately on top of his bedside table.

Harry would not sleep for long, as he had only taken a little of the potion. Snape would administer the rest, if he happened to awake. That look of terror on Harry's face was not something he wanted to see again. That look of emptiness, pain and bitter resignation had torn at his insides and caused deep disturbances that Snape experienced only rarely.

He rubbed a hand over his face, tired and anxious. As his own eyes began to become more and more heavy, and he had just given in to the intention to sleep as well, a soft, demanding hoot caught his attention. A flash of white obscured his vision as something landed graciously on the bed.

Snape looked up reluctantly and met the piercing black eyes of a snowy white owl. His eyes widened and he slowly raised his head. He'd thought of many extravagant means in which to reach the headmaster, but this one simple method he'd over looked. He didn't have a bird of his own, but Harry did.

Snape hesitated for a moment before holding out a long, pale finger in simple greeting.

Hedwig edged towards him cautiously, wide eyes blinking in a way that made Snape feel uneasy. He'd never taken to birds, though he could not deny the beauty of this one. He'd never bothered to ask Harry the name of his companion but he'd seen it often picking its way through the mice in his garden on clear nights. He'd always admired her grace.

Snape dropped his hand sharply, before he lost a finger, and snatched a stray piece of parchment from Harry's desk.

Numerous letters caught his eye, momentarily distracting him. He picked one up with curiosity, with a furtive glance back at his sleeping student, and read the address. He recognised both Ron and Hermione's handrwiting, and far more reluctantly, Sirius's also. There was also a short note from Remus, he noticed, giving his good wishes and encouragement. Snape's lip curled in distaste and he read the werewolf's untidy scrawl.

The letters intrigued Snape more than he would have expected, as he very quickly picked up a recurring detail that appeared in the positive responses. It appeared that his miserable, weary student had been opposing any suggestions that he was, in any way, distressed or unhappy beyond expectations, at Snape manor. This surprised Snape immensely as Harry had been anything but content here. In fact, he'd been nothing short of positively depressed, if increasingly motivated recently.

''You liar, Potter,'' Snape muttered, leafing through the letters with a critical eye.

He cursed Harry's ridiculous Gryffindor tendencies. Putting the thoughts and feelings of others before yourself was not a philosophy that had ever particularly appealed to Snape. It certainly was no way for Harry to keep himself alive. If there was one person who could afford to be selfish it was the 'Golden Boy', yet he seemed incapable of doing so.

It also annoyed Snape because it gave him yet another reason to respect Harry as a maturing adolescent. His long list of reasons to hate the boy were becoming dangerously thin.

Yet for all Harry's maturity and growing competence, he was still very young. He was but fourteen, or something like it, Snape reminded himself. _Fourteen_. As he looked at the boy now, so helpless and overwhelmed by his very own sinister memories, he did seem so much more his age, and so in the need of that emotional care that he'd been so deprived of growing up. Harry had never known a mother, or she surely would be at his bedside now, caring and responsible, fulfilling the role that had been forced opon Snape.

It had never occurred to Snape that the boy may be exceptionally lonely. The harsh fact was that Harry was starving of emotional affection, just as Snape himself had been at that age, and he could no longer ignore it. Even if, in reality, Harry was older than his years in maturity, if not in physical appearance, he still needed that emotional support. His inability to control his emotions was a clear reflection of that.

But who was there to give that to the boy, if not his parents? Sirius? Lupin? or even Dumbledore, when he found his sense once again? Harry could not do this alone. He needed someone to rely on, an anchor, just as he needed someone to love and to care for him in return, as a guardian would. Snape scoffed at the thought of Sirius Black filling that role.

Snape folded his hands into his lap, lips tightening, and assured himself of one, reassuring certainty; his part in Harry's development would end with the summer. He would not be filling any permanent role in the boy's troubled life. Any thought to the contrary barely brushed his mind, it was cast away so quickly.

He didn't know whether his abrupt removal from Harry's every day existance greater scared or relieved him. Unlike Sirius and Lupin, Snape believed his reflection on the boy was rather more accurate, and was becoming more so each day. He had the distinct advantage of knowing Harry for his weaknesses, as well as his strengths; a view untainted by biased preference or undeserved respect.

Harry was far from perfect, in more ways than one; a fact that certain others stubbornly ignored. Nor was he some kind of superhero that could soak up large amounts of pain without feeling the effects, but then again he was not completely unable to deal with such pressure. He was, in Snape's opinion, facing up to his destiny with all the courage and exertion that could be asked of him. This respect was given without bias derived from family connections.

These nightmares Harry suffered were unavoidable, but equally as destructible, and Snape intended to see the end of them if he succeeded in doing just one more thing before this training was over.

Snape looked down once again at the desk with a frown, wondering, with exasperation, how on earth Harry's friends were buying the utter rubbish in these letters. They all knew what grief he gave Harry, having witnessed time enough how the boy was discriminated against, and punished without just reason in their potions lessons at school. It angered him briefly, but knowing that this was the way Harry wanted it to be, and that, on some level, his friends had chosen to respect that and put their suspicions to the side, turned it to mere grim acceptance.

Harry moaned something in his sleep and Snape was momentarily drawn from his stupor. He watched the boy carefully, eyes flickering between him and the remainder of the dreamless sleep potion, but Harry merely grunted softly and found a more comfortable position in his sleep.

Turning back to the letters, feeling the beginnings of guilt, Snape's thoughts turned to Harry's childhood, something he had pointedly refrained from thinking about up to this point, purely because it gave him the impulse to hit something. Hard. Harry's abuse was obviously connected and enhancing the boy's present fears about where his life was headed.

Harry had never really had the chance to be a child, having bypassed that phase in his life. From there, he'd gone to being thrown all these responsibilities which would be heavy even on someone twice his age. The world worked in strange, cruel ways in which a child was forced to grow up too fast. Way too fast, and Snape recalled only too well how detrimental that was, and how bitterly lonely it could make you feel.

Harry really was one in a million to turn out the way he had. Snape couldn't help but respect that, while deeply resenting it, and share in the darkness of a bleak past, having experienced one not so different.

Snape sighed deeply, shaking with exhaustion. He hadn't meant to get so deeply lost in his thoughts, but lately he seemed to be doing it more often. Tonight of all nights was one where he needed to be alert. Suddenly feeling emotionally exhausted, and in dire need of some sleep of his own, not used to reminiscing in this way, he bundled the letters back together.

He felt only a slight twist of guilt as he ordered them in roughly the position he'd found them, so that Harry would not know of his interference. A part of him wished he hadn't pried. There were some things, regarding Harry, that he would much rather be ignorant of.

He grabbed a spare quill, tutting slightly with a look of distaste when he saw how far the end had been chewed. He addressed a letter to Dumbledore, asking for his immediate assistance and sealed it carefully. He tied the letter to Harry's owl with great care and threw open the window as wide as it would go, while motioning for her to approach.

Disconcerting black eyes looked expectantly at him, her whole body poised to take flight. Snape rolled his eyes as she hesitated, blinking up at him expectantly.

''That foolish child is undoubtedly soft with you,'' he murmured disapprovingly, complying with her silent request, running a long finger down her feathery back.

With a hoot of appreciation, Hedwig spread her wings and disappeared out of the window. Snape could only pray that she successfully located Dumbledore.

He followed her graceful form with dark eyes for only a moment before returning his attention to Harry, grateful for the deep calmness that had finally taken over the boy's features. Snape allowed himself a moment of content, feeling oddly, yet pleasantly serene, after letting his thoughts wander so far this evening.

He sat back down carefully, allowing his body to slump in tiredness, and waited patiently for Dumbledore to arrive.

His visit, which in Snape's mind was more unlikely than possible, as things currently appeared, was sure to be marred by the close following of the mutt of Grimauld Place, and Harry's meddlesome friends also. They would not be kept away for long when news got out of Harry's illness. They'd been expecting something like this to happen, he was sure, and, as always, he'd receive the blame.

Snape cringed at the thought of that lot running riot in his manor, and the earful he would receive from all of them, Harry included when he got his wits back. All things considered, he was in for an uncomfortable few days.


	16. Fever

---

The night passed quickly and without further event for Harry, but it was not so generous to his mentor. Snape departed from Harry's room, exhausted and tense, during the early hours of the morning having administered the last of the dreamless sleep potion.

It was more tiresome than even he'd expected, both emotionally and physically, watching over the boy. Sleep called to him, yet he denied it repeatedly, despite all it cost him. He would never admit that he was scared, terrified that Harry was drifting out of his reach into a place beyond cure. He'd never hear the end of it if that happened. For all the desires he'd ever had to throttle Harry, the real threatening of the boy's mortality was remarkably depressing.

Snape shook his head, repressing the urge to laugh out manically at the mess they'd got themselves into. He really had screwed things up. Just like he knew he would. Harry would kill him for this.

He made his way slowly to his own room, a dull throb pounding at his temples. He pointedly ignored the empty black sky as he stripped himself of his outer robes and readied himself for bed. All the while his mind showed no signs of beginning any similar task.

A relentless weight of anxiety had settled in his gut and was refusing to let go. Harry must have got more under his skin than he'd first thought, for the sick feeling in his stomach had nothing to do with his own health. He simply could not be responsible for anything happening to the boy.

He'd have to come up with a proper diagnosis for the Harry's illness. If they were lucky it was pass in a matter of days, but if this disease went as deep as Snape feared it did, into Harry's mind itself, they would have a much more trying task on their hands. And if Dumbledore was going to desert him on this one, he needed a solution of his own.

There had always been problems with the boy's mind, with his memories, and even if the fever was detainable, these could be ignored no longer. One way or another, Harry's demons would now have to be dealt with or this entire ordeal may very well only be repeated.

Tomorrow he'd begin research, and perhaps discover a speedy cure for this type of fever. He knew, without a doubt, that the path to recovery would not be so easy or forgiving, and they would both pay the price for it.

With a flick of his wand, the torches in his room extinguished their flames and he was cast into darkness. He closed his eyes but even with all his practice and expertise in mind control, he could not relax. Images of Harry, dull green eyes, lifeless and lost haunted him, much to his irritated displeasure. Harry was a magnet for his emotions, whether it be fury or something quite the opposite. The latter being part of Snape kept most dormant, a place he'd once thought long lost and forgotten.

Harry had always had, in one way or another, been able to strike up feeling in the indifferent, hate filled potion master, and Snape did not at all appreciate it.

He stared into the darkness that surrounded him, seeing everything and nothing at the same time. It was a long while before he fell into sleep.

* * *

Harry woke abruptly to unpleasant stomach pains and a headache, along with the other various symptoms that he could barely account for in the way they worked simultaneously, in a merciless pack, to make him feel as terrible as possible.

As far as he could tell, by the faint light that filtered half heartedly through the windows, it was some time in the early hours of the morning. He took a moment to appreciate the fact that he'd actually achieved a decent sleep in what felt like a lifetime, courteousy of Snape's potions.

He attempted to sit up and quickly surmised that, even if the night had been a restful one, it hadn't done much in the way of restoring his health. He felt, if anything, worse than he had before.

He'd barely had time to take his bearings when there was a knock at the door. The sound, though quiet, was like a hefty explosion to Harry's sensitive ears and he winced with the pain of it.

Snape appeared a moment later, looking drawn and tense as he swept into the room levitating a tray.

''Ah, Mr. Potter... long time no see,'' he drawled slowly, pausing to survey his patient more closely, a mildly surprised, though not displeased, expression passing across his face as he realised he was awake. ''Are you rested?''

Harry felt the heat in his face as Snape approached his bed and laid the tray carefully on his bedside table. He doubted he'd ever forget the night where he'd retched and gagged before him. The look of acute revulsion on Snape's face would not be easy to forget. It was more than embarrassing.

Groaning, Harry attempted, covertly, to hide himself once more beneath his bedspread, but an insistent hand pried away the pillow, that he held in a death grip beside his face, and threw it carelessly to the side.

''Not hiding are we, Potter?'' Snape raised an eyebrow, torn between firm disapproval and mild amusement at the childish attempt at concealment.

Shaking his head in denial, Harry pulled himself into a sitting position, stubbornly, and gestured miserably towards the tray.

''Are those for me?''

''They are,'' Snape confirmed, a knowing curve to his lips. ''You shall appreciate the specific taste, I am sure.''

Harry groaned again. Snape refused an ounce of sympathy on his behalf, deciding not to add that the potions had taken him many hours to brew, not to mention valuable resources, most of which would be costly to restock.

''I added some nutrients to sustain you, until you can manage solid food, without-''

''Thanks,'' Harry replied swiftly, before Snape could say it. He couldn't bare it, nor was he too keen either for another round of puking, despite the opposition his empty and neglected stomach had to this.

''Is...everything alright?'' Harry spoke again, catching the look of reluctance in Snape's eyes. He wondered if the potions were expensive or something.

Snape shook his head dismissively, and motioned impatiently for Harry to straighten up fully. This was hard for him. He was not used to having to accommodate to someone else's needs this way.

''What time is it?'' Harry asked curiously, as he stifled a yawn. ''How long did I sleep for?''

''Almost three days,'' Snape answered briefly, glancing towards the dim light cast from the windows.

''Three days,'' Harry repeated in wonder. ''Bloody hell-''

''Language, Potter,'' Snape reprimanded immediately with a nasty look at his student.

Harry nodded absently. If he had indeed been asleep for that long, then surely he would feel at least a little better. His immune system couldn't be that bad...or maybe the fever was just worse than he'd imagined.

''Do not panic,'' Snape said, reading Harry's expression correctly, ''the dreamless sleep potion wore off, but your body's natural defence mechanisms took over and you continued to sleep. You truly where exhausted. Regardless, you successfully survived a series of... fitful nights. I believe you are over the worst-''

Harry choked, ''you meant there was a chance I-''

''No,'' Snape cut across him urgently, pressing his hands to Harry's shoulders as he had unconsciously risen from his bed. ''I merely meant it as proof of your stability.''

Harry realised that he was panting and was momentarily confused. He shook his head. He couldn't keep doing this. He needed to stop making a fool of himself.

''You are looking better at any rate,'' Snape commented lightly a few minutes later, deeming it safe to remove his hold on the boy. It was true, the dark circles that sagged Harry's eyes had loosened up on account of all the sleep he'd had. However, apart from that, there was very little change to comment on. He selected one of the potions carefully.

''I don't feel it,'' Harry grumbled, wiping roughly at his sleep filled eyes.

He wanted to ask Snape about this strange illness, but he didn't feel strong enough to sustain a proper conversation, and feared the depressing answers too much, at this stage, to dwell too deeply on the specifics. He would question the man as to this in all good time, preferably when he felt more alive and each word didn't feel as though someone was ripping his throat open from the inside. Right now, Harry just wanted to disappear into a hole in the ground.

''I never knew it was possible to feel this awful,'' he admitted.

''It is possible to feel much worse, Potter,'' Snape responded darkly, busy preparing the potions.

Harry ignored him. ''I feel like I've been hexed into oblivion.''

The corners of Snape's mouth tilted wryly at Harry's choice of words, and he looked up briefly. ''May I point out, the fact that you have very well been hexed into oblivion, as you say, and that is the very reason we are at this unfortunate stage.''

It took Harry a moment to realise that Snape had been joking. Shaking his head, with a reluctant smile, he wondered, with disbelief, how the man could choose a time like now to get a sense of humour. ''Very funny, sir.''

''And not at all untrue.''

''I thought I was ill because of occlumency anyway, not because of your great, undying love of hurting me every chance you get?'' Harry sighed, leaning back against the headboard, as his strength began to leave him.

Harry peered at his mentor through half open eyes, curious about the concealed anxiety that was just visible behind his usual calm, indifferent composure. Harry was aware of the strain that pulled at Snape's own eyes, and made him look much older than he really was. He was considering whether he dared comment on it when Snape spoke again.

''There are many things that can account blame for this illness,'' he informed him, as he carefully measured out the potions with steady hands. ''Without occlumency, it would not have occurred, but that does not mean it has not been enhanced to a great extent by your fatigue and over exertion.''

''I know,'' Harry waved an irritated hand and immediately wished he hadn't. The vertigo was almost overwhelming. He quickly shut his eyes shut and waited for the feeling to pass before continuing. ''It's my fault. I should have stopped-''

''You should have done no such thing,'' Snape cut across him sharply, ''this is...my fault, as much as it is yours, if not... more so.''

''Really?'' Harry asked, surprised. He'd never heard Snape willingly accept the blame for something before. Perhaps he was also ill.

''Indeed,'' Snape gave a curt nod, wincing subtly at his own confession. ''None of us can see into the future, Potter. We could not have foreseen this. It was an agreement between you, and I, that we would go to our limits. Here we have reached it. We could not have predicted this outcome.''

Harry nodded his understanding, grateful for the acceptance of shared responsibility.

''We now must do our best to combat this disruption to our progress until the arrival of the headmaster,'' Snape continued more briskly, handing Harry one of the potions, and looming over him until it disappeared.

''How do you feel now?'' Snape asked, watching Harry intently.

Harry grimaced and hurriedly handed him back the empty vial. ''Like I want to be sick,'' he replied unsteadily.

Snape barely manoeuvred himself out of the way before his precious potion made a dramatic reappearance.

* * *

The next couple of days passed in a dismal blur for Harry. He was subjected to Snape's 'treatment' which, for the time being, included a number of peculiar potions, when Harry stayed in consciousness long enough to consume one, small dosages of minerals and nutrients to rebuild his strength, and a lot of sleep.

He woke at random intervals, often out for hours at a time, before finding himself awake and painfully alert, every noise and movement in the room amplified, causing him to become dizzy and disorientated.

It was horrible, and Harry, in all his desperation to get better, barely had time to wonder what is was Snape was doing, coming and going from his room. Sometimes he was there when he woke, and sometimes he wasn't, which was far more often. Harry found that when the man was there, pacing or reading or whatever it was he was doing, he found it much easier to drift back into sleep.

---

The rest of the week had been lost before Harry felt anything akin to human again. He did not know the day or the time when he woke. All he knew was that it was night time and that by some small measure, he was feeling better. There was strength in his limbs that had been absent throughout this ordeal, and his head felt a little less heavy and more capable of proper thought.

He was relieved when he found Snape stood at the window, gazing out into the night, his back to him. He allowed a small balloon of hope to erupt in his chest. Maybe this was it. Maybe he was finally getting better and it would all soon be over.

Harry sagged back against the pillows carefully with a small, inaudible sigh. Time dragged and when he normally would have slipped back into unconsciousness, he found himself, instead, staring up at the canopy above his bed with the urge to do something, anything that did not require lying down.

He shifted restlessly, turning this way and that in a fit of irritation. It was no use, he couldn't sleep. But then again, nor did he much feel like being awake. There was a comforting warmth trying to pull him back into sleep but some fear, or anxiety kept his eyes flicking open and glancing at the shadowy figure silhouetted against the window.

He moved onto his side, his back to the figure in an attempt to ignore its presence altogether, but that just seemed to make things worse. Harry was furious with himself, he was being ridiculous. Snape couldn't help him when it came to his own memories, he knew that, so what was he looking for? What did his subconscious want from Snape that he hadn't properly realised yet?

He blinked heavily and clenched his fists into the bed sheets as a tremor wracked through his body, and he fought the urge to retch. Maybe he wasn't so much better after all. He waited rigidly for his body to relax, knowing it would not be long before it convulsed again.

It was almost scary in the way he had become used to this, and almost expect it, in such a short amount of time. In an attempt to distract himself, seeing as his body refused to rest, he propped himself up carefully again and let his muggy eyes wander around the room.

Candles had been lit and light was dancing across his bedcovers, igniting the velvet sheets in a warming glow. An atmosphere of calm had been created, though the effect was wasted on Harry. He felt so completely detached he may as well have been in a different room altogether.

He shifted his position again and again but the discomfort inside of him could not be compensated by the soft, welcoming spread of his four poster. It needed something more, a cure it had not yet found.

''Another dose of Dreamless sleep, Mr. Potter?''

Harry gave a small start. Snape had approached his bed without his knowing. He did feel as though he had a very bad head cold, so it wasn't surprising. If only his brain would co-operate and become equally as lethargic.

He turned reluctantly onto his back, and looked up through half opened eyes into the enquiring gaze of his mentor to nod in confirmation.

''Then sit up,'' Snape commanded in a soft voice, eyes on Harry's pale, sweaty face, with deep lines creasing his forehead.

Harry struggled to comply, uncomfortable under the scrutiny. He knew Snape was looking for improvement, and he knew just as well that he had none to show him. He didn't want to see Snape's disappointment or, even worse, he didn't think he could handle it if the man was positively gleeful at his deterioration. That would be too much.

When he was finally in a respectable sitting position, Harry looked up to find those black eyes watching him with such intensity, so free of any of the cynicism and lack of empathy he might have expected, that it momentarily overwhelmed him. Snape looked genuinely concerned. It was a strange expression to see on such harsh features, but entirely welcome.

Harry held out his hand for the potion and was shamefully disappointed when the look on Snape's face disappeared, only to be replaced by the closed one he was much more used to, as if the man were reminding himself that it needed to be there.

Snape dropped the dreamless sleep into Harry's palm, not oblivious to the searching, almost knowing look in the boy's eyes. As always, he ignored it.

He was just as uncomfortable, and disconcerted, as Harry was with this new routine that had fell upon them. This inevitable intimacy, caused by the new roles they'd been forced to take on, was compromising the careful distance he kept between himself and the boy. But he knew that without his care, Harry would be lost.

He found that caring for Harry in this way, as tiresome and frustrating as it could be, brought an odd sense of satisfaction, despite all the difficulties that it entailed. There was nowhere else he would rather be, nothing else he would rather be doing when Harry was so in need. He was bound to the boy until his recovery, and that, in itself, was enough to keep him sane.

Harry didn't avert his eyes as he lifted the potion to his lips, watching Snape carefully. He could read him much better now, and that particular skill came with benefits. He doubted whether Snape would ever be an open book to anybody, but he was becoming in a way, a foreign text. Harry did not understand the language but could read the words.

With a second thought, he lowered the vial, without taking so much as a sip, and set it back on top of his bedside table.

''Do you have any of those head clearing potions instead?'' he asked hesitantly. ''I don't want to sleep anymore.''

Snape frowned his disapproval. ''Do not be ridiculous, Potter. You must rest. How else do you expect to-''

''I've slept enough already,'' Harry argued, trying to keep his voice level and as least whiney as possible. ''It's not helping me. I don't feel that much better.''

Snape refrained from rolling his eyes. ''If you are expecting this to be over in a matter of days, then you'll be sorely disappointed.''

Harry's face turned into an ugly grimace. He was sick of this being ill thing already. How long would it take? He wanted to continue training and end this torment.

''Potter...'' Snape looked at him seriously, a sigh in his voice. ''Dreamless sleep is exactly that. I can promise you, you shall suffer no further nightmares this evening-''

''It's not that,'' Harry cut across him with a small shake of his head. ''Well it is...partly, but that's not why. It feels weird taking that potion...like I'm chickening out. Not that I'm trying to be brave or anything...that's the last thing I-''

''I understand, Potter. Go on.''

''I just...I'm running from these sick dreams. And you're letting me. How is that right? How is that helping anything? They are just going to come back after-''

Snape shook his head in disbelief. ''Potter, you are insufferable. You are not a saint! Far from it.''

''...I know. I-''

''Then save us both the headache and stop trying to be one. Merlin, I have given you a respite, simply accept it. Why must there be an instant cure? Indulge in your dreamless sleep for as long as I permit it. Must you question everything?''

Harry grinned slightly, accepting Snape's words along with the underlining pride that came with them.

''Sorry, professor,'' Harry apologised, a smirk behind his words. He couldn't help but glow whenever Snape used that tone with him; one that suggested that there was more than just insufferability in what he was feeling.

''Indeed you will be, Mr. Potter,'' Snape said with a small smile, approval lightening his features that showed he was pleased, despite his exasperation, that Harry was continuing to question everything and not simply take it at face value. ''Try to sleep now. We shall discuss the finer aspects of your recovery, but not in this hour. There is hardly much left of the night.''

Snape begun to pace while Harry relaxed, enjoying the emptiness the potion had left in his mind. He supposed it should feel weird with Snape striding up and down his room, with him laying there in his bed so vulnerable and weak, but it didn't. There was only so much strength he had to exert on the feeling of discomfort and embarrassment.

Instead, Harry let himself indulge in the oddly soothing and calming feeling that settled him when Snape was so near. If Snape remained the indifferent, cold man Harry had known for so long, it would not have been so, but the more tolerable, distinctly warmer side to Snape, being so discreetly exposed now, was very different.

However, Snape, of all people, was not a safe means by which to draw comfort from. Harry's trust would come back to bite him, he had no doubt.

The clock on the mantelpiece in the room chimed, reminding them both of the late hour. Snape took one last glance at the night sky, and at Harry's relaxed form, before crossing the room.

''Are you leaving?'' Harry asked before he could stop himself. An unexpected panic had erupted in his chest as Snape's hand made to open the door. He felt his face inflame and prayed that Snape would blame it on his condition.

Snape turned back, confused. ''Of course I am, Potter. I am just as mortal as you are, I cannot go without sleep.''

Harry swallowed, holding back his opposition to this. He wouldn't be selfish, not when Snape had done so much for him already.

''Do you require another potion?'' Snape asked, trying to hide his irritation and confusion without much success. ''What is it that you need?''

Harry shook his head. ''Nothing. I...I guess I just want to talk to you. Or something. I...I don't want to be...'' He hated himself for this, but couldn't seem to stop. He dropped his eyes but Snape didn't need him to finish off the sentence to know what he was going to say.

Silence stretched between them. Snape could feel the awkwardness growing by the second. He sighed heavily and moved slowly back into the centre of the room so that he could see the boy properly.

''There is no shame in not wanting to be alone,'' he said with bitter resignation, reluctantly breaking the tension. It looked as though his home would be infiltrated by that mutt sooner than he would have liked. ''I will contact your godfather immediately-''

''I told you,'' Harry cut across him. For all his incisiveness, sometimes Snape just didn't get it. ''I _don't want him_...I can't...I don't want to see him like this.''

''I do not understand,'' Snape answered after a pause.

Harry sighed. ''Sirius doesn't understand what I've been through here...with you, and the training and everything. He won't see things right. You know just as well as I do what he'll do when he gets here. He'll try to take me away and probably attack you.''

Snape frowned. He'd never thought Harry would think to look at it that way. ''And you have a problem with this?''

Harry would have laughed bitterly was he not feeling so weak. ''So I _am_ the only one who thinks things are different,'' he muttered, rejection stinging at his eyes. ''I can stand you...but you still can't stand me.''

He knew Snape was impenetrable, he'd known it all along, so his confusion at Harry's concern for him shouldn't have stung as much as it did. If Snape cared for him at all, surely he'd know the care was returned. Harry could not understand it to be any other way.

He clenched his teeth together hard against the moisture in his eyes, hating the way this illness made him feel so vulnerable and naked. Everything felt so raw, he couldn't help but be overly responsive to everything.

''Potter,'' Snape sighed, forcing himself to be patient with the boy. ''You are incomprehensible. I do not understand wha-''

''Forget it,'' Harry said sharply, irritated.

''I-''

''Just forget it,'' Harry snapped, his mood changing so fast he could barely keep up with it himself. He _hated_ this fever.

Snape opened his mouth but seemed to think better of it and closed it again, sealing his lips in a tight line. His eyes narrowed marginally and he gave the boy a searching look, something Harry was becoming very used to. He stared back, unable to hide anything, but Snape seemed to find nothing in his face and pinched the bridge of his nose with a deep sigh. The boy was a mix of emotions, thoughts, feelings...everything. He had no chance of reading him now and deciphering his muttered phrases.

''I will ask you one more time,'' he said slowly and deliberately, ''do you want the presence of your godfather? This is not something I am offering without personal consequence, Potter. It is not for my own benefit, so answer carefully.'' The look in his eye was sceptical. He'd seen the way Harry looked at Sirius. The man was a deep comfort for the boy. There had to be some pretty strong opposition for him to resist the desire for that warmth now. Snape certainly couldn't actively provide it. He had no idea how to.

''_No_,'' Harry said, forcing some much needed conviction into his voice. He meant it. He wanted Sirius here much less than he may have expected. It certainly wasn't enough for him to compromise Snape's safety. As long as Snape was here, he would get through it, as much as it pained him to admit such a thing. ''I don't want Sirius here. Not when I'm like this.''

Snape looked about to argue but Harry spoke over him.

''_Will_ he turn up anyway?'' Putting on a brave show for Sirius was almost more than he could bare thinking about.

''Inevitably,'' Snape answered, a brief look of displeasure passing across his face. ''I doubt there is much that could stop him. You really do have him well trained -''

Harry narrowed his eyes, guessing correctly the implied. ''Sirius is _not_ a dog-''

Snape's raised his hands, promptly signalling his surrender. He wouldn't argue with Harry now. He was hardly up to it. ''Rest, Potter, that is all I ask. I will allow you to remain awake for a while longer if you promise to relax.''

''Done,'' Harry said quickly, ''but _no_ Sirius. Please. And could I have another of those potions that make it easier to think? They work so well...''

Snape eyed him carefully for a moment but gave up on the idea of refusing. If this is what it took to keep Harry settled, then he'd gladly hand one over.

''That is the only potion of that kind you can have for a while,'' Snape informed him strictly, ''potions do not mix well and they become detrimental if used excessively.''

''I don't know why you didn't just give me this before, you know, when I got all the headaches and stuff,'' Harry said, eyeing the potion appreciatively. ''It's amazing.''

''As I said,'' Snape repeated, ''It is not a cure. It can become addictive, as you have just suggested, and there is only a limited supply. I would not encourage you to rely on it.''

Snape handed him the rest of the dreamless sleep. ''Use this when you wish to sleep again. It should enable you peace for the rest of the night.'' His voice became further strained as he spoke. His lack of sleep was catching up with him. The last thing he needed was to get ill as well.

''Thank you, professor.'' Harry gave a weak smile and took the potion.

Snape gave a curt nod and made to move away again, in the direction of the door, desiring nothing now but the comfort of his own bed. However, a clammy hand shot out and a set of thin fingers enclosed his wrist in a deathlike grip, impairing his movement.

Harry looked momentarily stunned at his own actions, having reacted on impulse as always, but he refused to loosen his grip against his better judgement. He did not want Snape to leave him for some insane reason and he had to make the man see that.

Snape's eyebrows rose until they were in danger of disappearing into his hairline. He gave Harry a warning look, and when the boy still refused to release him with an apologetic face, as if he himself could not control it, he sighed heavily and used his free hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. He didn't need this. This night had been long enough already.

''You may have the desire to stay up half the night, Potter, but I do not,'' he said firmly.

Harry opened his mouth to speak but found he couldn't find the words to say. The deep lines encircling Snape's eyes and the weariness of his expression dissolved any selfish motives Harry may have had, and he felt his arm itching to yank back.

He apologised desperately, though his hand stayed firmly in place. He averted his eyes, feeling the colour rise into his pale sweaty cheeks, horrified at what he was doing. He had no right to force this on the man. He had done enough. More than enough, but his mind seemed to have other ideas.

Snape clenched his teeth, furious with himself for even considering putting Harry's needs before his own. He'd done enough. He was no Florence Nightingale, for the love of Merlin! He would not nanny the boy.

''Unhand me, Potter,'' he hissed and watched as Harry's adams apple rose and then fell, as he tried to comply.

''I can't, sir,'' he whispered. ''Please, just stay-''

''Po-''

''Why? Why not? You can sleep,'' Harry heard his voice rising but could do nothing to stop it. This wasn't him speaking. He was being run by his emotions. He had no filter in place to censor what he thought, and what came out of his mouth, after the fever had stripped him of his most vital defences. He closed his eyes. ''Just don't leave me. Please don't lea-''

''_Harry_,'' Snape spoke over him, overwhelmed. He had to make Harry see reason. This was madness. ''You must think rationally. I cannot stay. Allow me to call for Bla-''

''Why do you need to go?'' Harry challenged, snapping his eyes open to glare accusingly at his weary teacher.

Snape sighed, allowing his hair to fall partially across his face, to hide his extreme unease. Where should he start? There were a million reasons why. The act of staying would represent so much of what was determined not to reveal. It would show he cared, and he did not yet know if he were ready to declare such a thing. This was Harry Potter. He should be enjoying this opportunity to see him in such pain.

Snape swallowed thickly as he made the mistake of looking directly into Harry's eyes. The boy was afraid. He was truly afraid. Snape had seen his nightmares, he knew why. That had been him once, a child scared to his wits of his father's hand.

Looking down at Harry now, he saw little difference between the two of them. He had longed for someone then so badly, anyone just to be near him, comfort him...love him. Harry was asking for the same thing from him, and though he could not give him all he wanted, Snape could be here at least. It was because he had to, Snape tried convince himself...that is why he was so tempted to do so. He didn't do sentimentality.

Before the more dominant, rational side of his brain could tell him to leave now and lock his door, ensuring at least half a night would be saved, Snape asked, keeping his voice as neutral as possible, ''What do you want me to do?''

''I...I can't be alone,'' Harry repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. ''I need you here.'' Harry winced at his own words. He wanted nothing that to disappear and never be seen again. This was too much. He felt like such a selfish, pathetic mess.

All he knew and cared about was that, right now, he didn't feel safe. He felt threatened and more vulnerable than he had for a long time. The only presence that was making him feel safe right now was Snape's. He couldn't let that go. Damn his pride.

Harry saw the surprise and hesitation in Snape's eyes, and once again the flexing of muscles beneath where his fingers held the man in place.

''I'm not going to beg.'' Harry gradually released his grip with great difficulty, giving Snape the choice. That was the least he could do.

Harry could hardly breathe as he awaited Snape's answer, his hands wringing in his lap. The seconds ticked by and Snape's face, contorted into an almost pained expression, gave no clues as to what was he was thinking.

''I will stay if you wish it,'' Snape agreed eventually, giving a small curt nod, letting Harry know that he could calm himself, for he would not be moving.

''Thank you,'' Harry breathed, relieved.

''You just wish me to be present?'' Snape asked warily, dark eyes watching as Harry finally began to relax.

''I want you to keep me safe,'' Harry said before he could consider taking it back. It was being brutally honest and knew it. He suddenly had the feeling as if he'd just thrown himself into shark infested waters. He had no idea what would come next. His fingers had once again wound themselves round Snape's wrist, of their own accord, and his eyes had grown wide.

To Harry's surprise, Snape made no immediate move to release himself. A brief wince was his only outward sign of discomfort.

The look on the man's face was indescribable, both revealing everything and nothing to Harry. He opened his mouth several times to speak but for once the potions master was at a loss of how to respond. This was not his role. Harry was never supposed to see him as a protector. He made him safe from the shadows, that was what he'd always done. Harry was never supposed to _need_ him, but he did now, very much so.

''Until the day I die, Harry,'' Snape responded finally, unable to form a more adequate response to such a heartfelt plea. It was the illness speaking, he knew it. Harry would hardly remember this conversation in a few weeks, or so he sorely hoped.

Snape resigned himself to retaining eye contact with Harry, as the boy immediately, cynically, searched his face for a lie.

It was, Harry decided, such a curious expression that had adorned Snape's features. He could find no deception, only great discomfort, but also hope and determination, and a number of things he couldn't decipher.

The moment was over all too soon and Snape had moved his arm swiftly out of Harry's grasp and procured himself a chair.

He sat down, and Harry, feeling both totally ashamed and exhilarated in equal measures, made himself as comfortable as possible, content in the knowledge that Snape was at least, for the time being, watching over him. It was as much as he could ask for.

Neither had the desire to speak. It wasn't until Harry could feel the effects of the potion begin to wear away, that he realised there were so many things he wanted to ask Snape before he was forced into the darkness of sleep once more. He didn't want to go there just yet.

''Is he coming?'' he asked quietly.

Snape didn't need to ask to know who he meant. He blinked a few times before acknowledging Harry. He looked as though he was sleeping with his eyes wide open, his face was so relaxed, contrasted only by the piercing sharpness of his eyes that looked as though they'd been a million miles away all together with his thoughts.

''I do not know,'' Snape replied simply, honestly. ''I confess I used your owl with a message. She seemed remarkably compliant. Perhaps she may be the one, out of all of us, who may find him. Though you are looking better, are you not? We may not need assistance after all-''

''So he's not coming? He knows I'm in trouble and he's not even bothering to get here.''

Harry knew he was being potentially unreasonable but he couldn't find the will to care. Dumbledore had let him down badly once again. Who could he actually really rely on? Who could he trust to be there when he was at his weakest? Obviously not the man he had once respected and admired above all others.

''We do not know whether he even received the message, Potter. He may simply be delayed or incapacitated-''

''Stop it! Don't lie,'' Harry snapped, pulling back the covers and attempting to get out of bed. ''Don't make excuses for him.''

Thankfully, Snape saw the accident before it happened, and caught Harry around the waist before he could collapse in a heap on the floor.

''Attempt to move again, Mr. Potter, and I shall let you fall,'' Snape warned, pushing him firmly backwards. ''That was a foolish thing to attempt. You can barely speak, let alone stand. How is it that when you cannot even find the energy remain on two feet, you still have such emotion to riddle me with?''

Harry gave the potions master a filthy look, unable to understand his behaviour himself, no less explain it to Snape.

''I just don't...I don't know what's wrong with me,'' Harry admitted, running a shaky hand through his hair, not even noticing how greasy it had become. ''I've never felt like this before...It's like I'm losing control. I can't hide anything anymore. Whatever emotion I feel is like...multiplied.''

Harry gave a small shrug. There were no words to describe how he felt.

Snape, wisely, did not push him any further to explain it, for the moment, but for once accepted the boy's words with all the understanding he could muster.

''I do not deny that this illness is more than any common fever,'' Snape said slowly, forcing himself to speak and think when it was the last thing he felt like doing when he was so tired. ''But I am no healer. I know that it is connected, indirectly to your brain... Your memories. Therefore, I believe, that to dispel this unfortunate interruption to your training, you are required to first deal with these particular, disturbing memories to ensure that this doesn't happen again.''

''And how does that work?'' Harry frowned, feeling a strong headache coming on but ignoring it. ''How do I deal with it? If I haven't managed to so far...''

''Ah, but you have been attempting to combat these nightmares, these horrors alone, were you not? You have been offering resistance to their effects, I will grant you that, but you have not made any effort to come to terms with them. You have suppressed them, and I believe I would not be wrong in saying, this is what you've always done when times have not been as easy as they could have been...were you someone else. Am I right?''

Harry thought hard about this and was not too surprised when he found it to be true. How was it that Snape could understand some aspects of him so well, and then misinterpret other vital factors completely? ''What about my... 'emotional outbursts' that you hate so much? Surely that's as outlet for-''

''A temporary distraction, Potter,'' Snape cut across him, growing quickly frustrated. ''Not so much of a solution, and I do not _hate _your inappropriate display of emotion, it merely causes me an inconvenience. They are a part of who you are...or what you've become. They can be dealt with.''

Harry nodded uncertainly. ''So how do you suggest I _do_ deal with these memories?''

Snape stared at Harry for a long moment, pondering his answer. ''I have given this matter a great deal of thought,'' he said quietly, ''and I have come up with only one solution. It may not be the most effective, or efficient, but I fear that, without assistance from the headmaster, it is our best chance at securing your mind and building up your strength once more.''

Harry nodded and waited for Snape to continue, having no doubt that whatever his idea was, it was worth credit, regardless of Dumbledore's opinion.

''You must discuss your horrors with me,'' Snape said finally, his face an inscrutable mask.

''With you?'' Harry blurted out, momentarily horrified. He couldn't be serious.

Snape flinched slightly and clasped his hands in front of him to stop himself twitching.

''Indeed, Mr. Potter,'' he answered, no emotion displayed that could let Harry know how he felt about this, ''as I said, it is not the most ideal solution.''

Harry swallowed. Snape couldn't possibly want to know all of his terrors, and how could it help anyway? No way. He wanted to keep the little respect he may have gained from Snape. The last thing he wanted to do was succumb fully and have a full blown breakdown in front of him and lose it all.

''Sir...''

''Listen to me, Harry,'' Snape silenced him, ''this is very serious. This restraint on your memories...on your past, has been happening far longer than I think even you know. Occlumency has merely enhanced these fears and set them free to dominate your subconscious mind.''

''So does that mean you can't use occlumency to help me?'' Harry asked, hoping that this was true. He never wanted to experience it again.

Snape nodded shortly to confirm this. ''We will have to proceed verbally if we wish to succeed. Once the walls of your mind have been reconstructed, occlumency can be attempted again, but not before.''

''There has to be another way-''

''There is not,'' Snape said simply, ''or if there is, it has eluded me. Believe me, Potter, I do not wish this burden on myself by any means-''

''Then don't do it,'' Harry begged, ''get Sirius or Remus...or couldn't I talk to Ron or Hermione? They would...'' He looked up at Snape apologetically, not wanting to seem ungrateful, but the man was the last person he'd feel comfortable talking to about this. He'd shared enough with Snape. Anymore, and the man would have far too much ammunition to use against him in the future when this fragile little bubble of temporary amity between them inevitably burst. ''They would understand...''

''Do you really believe so?'' Snape asked quietly. He let a few moments for Harry to contemplate this.

''Think, Potter...Do your friends really know you so well? Do you honestly believe that Miss. Hermione Granger or, god forbid, Mr. Weasley, can even begin to comprehend the terrors of your past-''

''They've been there with me!'' Harry cut in, defensive, ''they've seen just as much as I have.''

''No, they have not,'' Snape disagreed firmly. ''Not nearly as much. They are merely pawns in this war, Potter. Necessary I believe, but not indispensible. You, on the other hand, are the only hope that this world has of survival. That kind of pressure can never be known unless it is felt.''

''Yes, but-''

''Who fought the basilisk in the chamber of secrets, Mr. Potter?''

''Wha...? I did.''

''Who is it that has came face to face with the Dark Lord himself, and lived to tell the tale on countless occasions?''

Snape did not wait for an answer, annoyed almost that Harry seemed to need constant reminding about all that he'd achieved. As if it wasn't enough that he was the youngest person alive to have been through all that the had, and still be among the living. He shifted unconsciously closer and his eyes burned into Harry's with all the intensity that he felt.

''Who was it that told me not a few days ago that they would do all in their power to vanquish the Dark Lord, even if it meant sacrificing their own life? Do not delude yourself, Potter, that they, your...friends, have even a morsel of the comprehension you have of darkness...of courage.''

Harry opened his mouth again but Snape held up a hand to silence him, not yet finished with his lecture

''They are more experience than others, I will give them that,'' he admitted, ''they have a fools courage befriending a person as marked as you, but do not ask me to hold for them the same respect that I do for you. It is not underserved, just a shadow of your own, greater power.''

''I don't agree,'' Harry said firmly, distracted slightly by the way in which Snape had spoken about him. He would call it approval and...passion, if he were to be so hopeful. Snape really looked like he meant it.

''Then we must agree to disagree on that matter,'' Snape concluded, having no doubt that Harry would indeed disagree. ''The point I am trying to make is that-''

''Wait... Did you say that you think I have great power?'' Harry asked, frowning, doing a double take. He wanted this to be clear. Snape couldn't be so openly positive about him, surely.

Snape hesitated. ''I-''

''You did,'' Harry grinned, suddenly feeling a lot more light hearted and like his healthy self. Miracles did happen. ''Maybe you're ill too.''

Snape gave a soft snort. ''It would hardly surprise me,'' he drawled, dropping his gaze from Harry's and smoothing out his face, realising only now that he may have conveyed far too much personal feeling for comfort. ''You are enough to bring about the premature death of any wizard.''

''Because I'm so powerful?'' Harry tried to keep his face serious but failed miserably. He was far too gleeful.

Snape narrowed his eyes, unsure as to Harry's particular interest in his opinion.

''I see that you are feeling better, Potter,'' he said shortly, unamused. ''Your arrogance returns-''

''Not at all,'' Harry smiled. ''I'm just appreciating your change of heart-''

''Enough...'' Snape rolled his eyes. ''Spare me, Potter. I merely meant to express that you have potential, but once again praise has gone to your head. A mistake, I see, on my part, to confess that-''

''That's it, play it down,'' Harry teased, enjoying the ability to aggravate Snape into good humour. ''I know what you really meant.''

Snape shook his head as though mildly bewildered, refusing to believe that he was enjoyed being teased by a student, and Harry Potter of all people. Why was he not cursing to high heavens? He couldn't possibly be going soft on the boy. As soon as Harry was better, Snape would make himself a proper threat again, as it should be. Damn Potter. He wanted to sleep. He must be growing delirious.

''As we were saying before your bout of common foolishness...'' Snape said, forcing as much irritation into his tone as he could muster, getting them back on topic. Harry needed to sleep. The sooner that happened, the sooner Snape could follow. The boy's moods were changing too fast for him to keep up with. He was certainly proving some nerve tonight.

Harry had never before dared to be so open in his presence, and it would have been a lie for Snape to claim he was completely adverse to this significant alteration, even if it did largely unhinge him.

''Your friends, and your godfather, are inappropriate for this task for the very fact that they do _not_ understand. Believe that if nothing else.''

''And you do?'' Harry asked sceptically. ''You truly _understand_ do you?''

''I understand many things,'' Snape said carefully, ''though I doubt you or your problematical mind will ever be one of them. What I am suggesting is that you converse with me, as I am less prone to the molly coddling tendencies of your godfather, and the sympathy and naivety of your friends. I believe I can approach the matter in a more...detached way.''

''And that would be best?'' Harry asked, becoming depressed once again as they turned back to serious matters. Trust Snape to break the mood.

Snape hesitated, not oblivious to the Harry's uncertainty, and then nodded once.

''So what you're saying...'' Harry began slowly, rolling onto his side to peer up at Snape more closley, needing confirmation, ''is that you want me to tell you about...about stuff, because you'll be horrible about it.''

Snape hissed in frustration. ''I do not have a heart of stone, Potter, nor do I escape normal human emotions and feeling, as much as you may doubt it. I am offering my assistance, as I will, in my greatest effort, keep you strong...push you where others would not...force you on... You will hate me by the end of it, Potter, more so that you do now. None of your friends could carry this burden.''

Harry sighed deeply. He didn't doubt that. ''I don't have a choice, do I?''

''There is always a choice,'' Snape answered wearily, sounding very tired once more as the fire in his eyes dimmed. ''I will not force you to talk to me...I doubt I could. I expect you could live on, in relative comfort, with careful suppression of these memories. I would help you do that, if that is what you wish...but if you want to deal with these memories and face them for what they are, now is your chance. They will always be there...I cannot rid you of them, but I can make them bearable. You shall be stronger for it.''

Harry didn't have an answer. He could barely understand the magnitude of what Snape was offering him, and it scared the hell out of him. Had he really had all of these foul memories eating away at him all this time, right the way back since the Dursley's? He thought he was over that unhappy spell of his life... that he'd moved on and gained a new freedom at Hogwarts, but maybe Snape was right. Harry had never dealt with that pain. He'd just learned to live with it looming over him like a shadow. To be free of such a supressive force would be heaven.

''Not everyone practises what they preach, Potter,'' Snape continued hesitantly, before Harry could think about it too much. He fely he owed the boy an explanation for his hypocrisy, so that he'd accept his sincerity without cynicism. ''It is... too late for me. To open up the dark corridors of my mind would be... unbearable to say the least. I am not a strong enough man to bear it. My walls are very much intact and I have no need to revisit my past...My character allows it. I do not require the emotional attachments that you do. You are a sponge for the outside world and I am its umbrella. You have proved it.''

Harry stared up, tracing the lines of Snape's face with an intensity he had not bothered with before. He was deeply grateful that Snape confided in him something so personal, and felt his respect for the man swell unexplainably. Snape rarely shared anything other than his critcism. Harry knew what it must have cost him to relay such an emotion, and it showed his respect for him, Harry, that Snape felt he needed to justify himself.

''Do not answer me now, for your decision will no doubt change come morning.'' Snape's voice was more firm now, deliberately filling the momentary silence before Harry could respond. ''Sleep.''

''But, Professor-''

''It is not negotiable, Potter.''

Harry sighed and allowed himself to slump back against the pillows, his head feeling full and achy now that the potion had worn off, and new turmoil's had been compressed into his already overcrowded mind.

Harry squinted out of the corner of his eyes, before he relaxed completely, but Snape hadn't moved. Not an inch. He was staring at some point across the room, apparently at nothing at all, his face strained with the stress of deep, profound thought. He seemed resigned to remaining at his bedside, and, though he looked shattered, he did not seem as furious about it as Harry would have expected him to be.


	17. Dumbledore's Return

--

The night was a restless one for Harry, as his dosages of Dreamless Sleep were being gradually reduced. Snape's potions were a true blessing, but Harry knew he could only indulge in their miraculous ability to free his mind from turmoil for a little longer, before Snape withdrew it as a comfort, forcing him to take a more active role in subduing his nightmares.

Harry was relieved when the first rays of sun crept in through his window, providing a warm blanket on his face. He lifted a heavy arm to check his watch, but time hardly mattered -- It had lost all meaning. His distorted sleep patterns were enough to suggest that.

He grunted softly and let his body remain limp, almost welcoming the dull ache in his chest, as it had replaced the suffocating weight that had previously constricted his breathing.

As Harry did a quick self-assessment -- just as much to save himself from vertigo, as to check on any improvement -- he refused to get his hopes up when a gut clenching sensation failed to drown him, in a haze of intense pain, as he'd become used to upon waking.

It soon became apparent that, even if his head still felt like a ton of bricks, his body was at least on the way to recovery.

Smiling weakly, Harry decided boldly to test its duration on a trip to the bathroom. He almost reconsidered this when he took in the distance before him, accounting for the frailty in his limbs. Never had the short few feet looked so far as it did then, as Harry wobbled dangerously on his feet.

He was about to take the first daring step when movement from the corner of his eye caught his attention.

Snape.

Harry winced. He'd almost forgotten about him. He'd not realised the man had taken his plea seriously enough to spend the entire night in his rooms. Guilt welled up inside of him as Snape twitched uncomfortably in the chair and stirred. He was going to be awfully stiff this morning and he had only had one person to blame.

Sleep ridden black eyes opened slowly and instantly turned on Harry, as sharp and alert as ever. Snape blinked through the grogginess that clouded his vision, taking the usual cold edge from his stare.

Harry couldn't help but offer the waking man a sleepy smile. The man's hair was ruffled and his robes creased. It made him look more human somehow. With Snape's lazily raised eyebrow, Harry quickly turned sheepish, realising he'd been caught attempting something that was probably very foolish in the condition he was in.

Snape, however, was lacking in reprimand. Smirking in amusement, he lifted himself from his chair with a painful stretch.

''Go on then, Potter,'' he said, voice thick with sleep. ''It is ten steps at most.''

Harry accepted the challenge with determination. He rose carefully, in slow motion, from the bed that had been his haven for the past few days, and felt, as though for the first time, fresh air on his bare legs. He shivered slightly but fought the urge to crawl back beneath the sheets and give in to its empty comfort.

To his utter amazement, he made it half way towards the bright lights of the bathroom, still standing, and turned back to give his mentor a very cocky grin. Snape raised his eyebrows and prompted Harry onwards with a swift gesture of his hand.

The caution in his eyes was lost on the boy, so set he was on completing his task. Snape took a sharp step forward as Harry swayed, more aware than his student was of the distance that was still left uncovered.

Another two shaky steps and Harry felt his body violently tremble. His eyes closed as the all too familiar sensation of nausea swept through him. He waited to hit the ground but it never happened. Thin fingers had gained a tight grip on his upper arms, and he could hear Snape's voice in his ear. Grimacing, Harry had to hide further embarrassment at having failed to prove his strength.

''I remember telling you, Mr. Potter, that if you fell again, I would let you fall,'' Snape said, remaining solid as Harry slumped back against him.

Harry kept his eyes downcast as he panted, his legs shaking almost uncontrollably. His energy had been sapped entirely and he felt boneless. All Snape had to do was move back an inch and he'd crumble to the floor.

''No,'' he replied when he found his voice, trying not to become too comfortable, as he moulded against the heat of Snape's chest. ''You said if I attempted to stand you would not catch me if I fell.''

''So I did,'' Snape remarked, pushing Harry easily foreword as if he weighed nothing, which considering the little he'd eaten over the past few days, he probably did, ''and one day you shall understand the significance of that.''

Only Snape could be so alert and swift so soon after waking, but Harry found it hard to be grateful when he so wanted the man's intervention to be unneeded. It seemed he was still to be dependent. Harry felt his eyes sting and fought an exasperated sigh. He knew he had a habit of being overemotional but this new vulnerability was proving exceptionally hard to contend with.

The bathroom lights were harsh on Harry's eyes and he squinted against their dazzling intensity.

''Forgive me,'' Snape said, catching Harry's reaction at once. ''I must remember how sharp everything is in your current condition.''

With a flick of his wand, the lights dimmed.

Harry was almost undone by the gesture. It was so unlike Snape to be so patient that Harry's feeble excuse for an emotional defence system could barely stand it. He struggled against the stinging that had erupted in his eyes.

He released himself slowly from Snape's grip as soon as he felt he was able, suddenly very uncomfortable with their close proximity. It was too much, all at once, to have the potions master so close. Harry steadied himself, not unaware of the raised hand, poised at his elbow, ready to take action if he were to fall again.

Snape watched the boy carefully as he scrunched his face, tensing the muscles and relaxing them again in an agitated pattern as if he were fighting off some invisible force. When he realised the boy was pushing back tears, Snape took an automatic step back, paling considerably under his deep frown.

There was an uncomfortable moment in which both of them fought with the unease of the situation.

''While your mental defences are weakened you are bound to be more... vulnerable to emotions that even you would normally have no trouble concealing,'' Snape said slowly and with as much consideration as he could bear; it was not in his nature to offer comfort when someone was upset, but he couldn't let the boy think he was weak. It was not his fault, after all, that the effects of his illness were proving so detrimental on all of his defences.

''I hate it,'' Harry stated bluntly, wiping roughly at his reddened nose. ''I hate all of it.''

Snape could not disagree. Yet to tell Harry so would not aid the situation in any way, so he found himself searching for some way to console the boy. As ridiculous as this seemed, Snape found the idea unrivalled by anything malicious he may have been thinking.

He'd never wanted Harry to get better more than when he was forced into this state of defencelessness. It was almost sickening the way the boy could not even stand. Snape felt a sharp jab of guilt each time he was forced to witness it, despite his firm belief that Harry's illness was _not _his fault.

Slytherin that he was, Snape's desperation for a cure was as much for his own sake as much as Harry's. This routine they'd fallen into was not sustainable. There was only so long they could balance the pressure of their new roles, with that of their previous, distant ones as exclusively teacher and student, before something broke.

Also, though Snape was reluctant to admit it, Harry's presence was seriously lacking when he was in such ill health. He missed his daily banter with the boy, whether it be harmful or simply teasing. He did not so much miss the shouting matches, or the stresses of intense studying.

However, things such as the boy's humour, as inappropriate and untimely as it could be, was something that Snape noticed the absence of with displeasure. It was the small things that he had come to associate with that boy, that he had unintentionally become reluctant to be without. Without the light hearted rambling which would fill his ears as Harry ended a hard day, Snape felt the emptiness of the manor far more significantly.

Harry had caused him a welcome irritation that created a divergence from his normal, repetitive daily routine. He would not have been forced to acknowledge these feelings had Harry not been in such a critical state, but the difference that was being clearly shown between his healthy and ill self had opened his eyes. Harry was becoming a different person; he was losing heart.

If Snape had said before this happened which he would prefer, Harry quiet and compliant, or healthy, stubborn and irritating, his answer would have been ready made, but know he wasn't so sure.

Not that he wasn't selfishly finding satisfaction in being the boy's only link with reality. If it wasn't for him, Harry would never find a way to eliminate his mind from such unwelcome invasions. The power that gave Snape was one he couldn't ignore.

Snape finally released Harry from his distant gaze and inhaled deeply.

''I, on the other hand find it refreshing,'' he said with a small smirk, encouraging some of the boy's dormant fervour out into the open. ''You have never been so co-operative as you have the past few days. You are never normally this compliant.''

Harry snorted. ''Only because you make it so damn difficult to be.''

Snape regarded him with a raised eyebrow, satisfied that Harry was still with him, as much as he was being smothered by this illness. He quickly chose not to continue the conversation further as Harry's shaking resumed. They'd made it to the bathroom but he doubted the boy's strength would last much longer.

He cleared his throat and smoothed down the front of his robes where Harry had creased them with his hands. ''I trust you do not require my assistance in this forte-'' he begun but Harry was already vigorously shaking his head, his aversion to this made plainly clear.

Snape again smirked his amusement. ''Very well then. I shall wait until you are finished.''

''And Potter,'' he said again as Harry turned to the toilet, face burning scarlet, ''do try to take a shower now that you are capable of standing. Freshening spells do not quite manage to cover the stench you have acquired yourself.''

The door was shut sharply, and if Harry could possibly have been any more embarrassed, he would have blushed harder.

''Thanks Snape,'' he muttered sarcastically, unzipping his flies and roughly yanking down his trousers.

He still couldn't decide how much he still disliked the man. Snape certainly wasn't making much of a deliberate effort to make a case for himself. Much of what he did, the good parts, were not done with a great deal of thought, Harry was sure; it was just nature taking over. Even Snape wasn't entirely heartless. The man simply couldn't help reminding Harry that he was a bastard.

Harry waited until Snape's footsteps disappeared away from the door, before he pulled himself free from his pants. He hadn't realised just how much he needed the toilet.

Finally, he sighed in satisfaction and took a few moments to regain his strength, before he began the trying task of carefully scrubbing and cleaning every part of his body that had become infested with grime over the last few weeks in his inability to care for himself.

--

Harry reappeared some while later, feeling if not clean, then at least a little more hygienic. He'd scrubbed himself raw, yet still he felt dirty. He knew this was probably more of a mental than physical issue, which didn't make him anymore comfortable with the idea.

He clung to the door frame, exhausted. This little venture to the bathroom had cost him a lot. Even though he felt he should be sick of his bed by now, Harry wanted nothing more to be tucked within his sheets, resting.

Having resigned himself to the fact that he'd need Snape's assistance once again to get back across the room, he opened his mouth to call him, but frowned instead.

Snape was at the open window, clutching a yellowed parchment in his long, pale fingers. It was a letter. His eyes were wide and intent as they darted across the page, his whole posture rigid with tension.

A glimpse of white, contrasting heavily against the bleakness of the rest of the room, caught Harry's eye, distracting him temporarily.

''Hedwig,'' he breathed, turning towards her with a fond smile.

She raised her eyes and shook her wings in way of greeting. Harry beamed, ridiculously pleased to see her. He edged forwards. ''She's back.''

Snape turned sharply at the sound of his voice and crumpled the letter into his palm. He hesitated before concealing the parchment inside his cloak, and striding towards Harry.

''What did it say?'' Harry asked eagerly, as he was taken by the elbow. ''Was it Professor Dumbledore?''

Snape remained silent, tugging Harry ungraciously across the room.

''What did he say?'' Harry demanded, ignoring the fact that he was in no state to demand anything. Stumbling, he impulsively fisted a hand in Snape's robes to keep himself upright.

Snape winced, abruptly pausing their progress to uncoil Harry's fingers from the material with a glare. Harry looked up at him apologetically, a ridiculously innocent expression on his face -- one that failed to conceal undercurrents of fear and anxiety.

Such a look of dependence had Snape's stomach knotting painfully. Hesitantly, he retook Harry's hand and placed it on his wrist. Harry's obvious surprise was ignored, as he held gratefully onto Snape's preferred arm and was led more slowly towards his bed.

''The letter...'' Harry tried again, but Snape shook his head.

''Not now,'' he replied shortly, with such a note of finality that Harry instantly fell silent.

As he was finally lowered into a sitting position, Harry started to shake, uncontrollable panic working its way onto his face. In his troubled mind, the mere contents of a private letter could have endless sinister possibilities.

Snape eyed the boy warily, forced to acknowledge Harry's apprehension before it escalated further. He smoothed his own face into that of calm. ''It is alright,'' he assured him, his voice soft and low. To his own ears, he sounded utterly riduculous but Harry visibly relaxed. ''Nothing has happened. Calm yourself.''

Crawling into his pillows, Harry leant back in a pathetic heap and immediately felt himself tempted by sleep. Snape took advantage of Harry's lethargy to usher him up the bed, an unsubtle distraction he knew, but it hardly mattered. Harry was so far gone that he hardly remembered what it was that he'd been so keen to know. All he could do was marvel at how much sleep his body seemed to require.

''Sleep,'' Snape said, his voice losing some of the impatience of before as he draped the cover across Harry in one smooth, fluid movement, as if in doing it so quickly he could decrease any sentimentality in the gesture.

Harry made a final attempt at forcing his eyes to stay open, but Snape was shaking his head. ''Trust me. Sleep now,'' he repeated.

Harry nodded and did as he asked, finding it remarkably easy. He felt drugged and remarkably compliant. Snape's velvety tone was easy to obey and his eyes slid slowly shut, almost of their own accord.

The last thing he saw before he was consumed completely by sleep was Snape's strained face, before he turned his back on him and disappeared from the room.

----

Hushed voices next woke Harry, despite their obvious intent not to disturb him. Snape's level tone was reassuring, rousing Harry gently from his subconscious and unintentionally encouraging him into familiar surroundings.

Internally sighing, Harry gradually concentrated on the words being spoke, drawn into interest when he realised that he and Snape were no longer alone.

''... Any further alterations?''

''Nothing. Not since his disastrous attempt at making it to the bathroom unaided this morning.''

''I see...''

The hairs on Harry's arms stood to attention as his memory returned. Hedwig. The letter. Dumbledore couldn't be here...Could he? It seemed near impossible that after so many days of longing for the man's guidance, that Harry's prayers were actually to be answered.

His heart beat frantically in his chest and he struggled against his heavy lids, but eventually gave in to their lack of response. He freed one of his ears from where it rest against the pillow and listened intently to their conversation.

''...Then the situation is indeed as dire as you suggested, my friend. I trust that you have a remedy in mind.''

''I am afraid not, headmaster. I do not believe there is one,'' Snape's voice answered, with unmistakable bitterness. ''Not for the long term effects of this illness. His fever will burn itself out with time and the aid of various substances, but I believe his general deterioration goes deeper-''

''Severus,'' Dumbledore interrupted gently. ''I thank you, but there is no need not burden yourself with this any longer. I am here to relieve you. Grimauld Place is a far more appropriate location to treat the boy. He will be attended to by Madam Pomfrey. I am sure she would not mind the interruption to her summer...in the current circumstances.''

Harry's head was spinning. Leave? How dare Dumbledore turn up now so abruptly and dictate his direction. And without even asking him first. Anyway, he _was_ going to get better.

However, the anxiety in Dumbledore's voice did unsettle Harry. It forced him, despite all his reluctance, to reconsider his position seriously. He was very ill and he couldn't deny the temptation of some professional care. He'd never really considered the importance of Dumbledore's reaction to his illness, having concentrated so much on how Sirius would be affected. He'd been a fool to overlook it. Of course Dumbledore would be the one to make the decision about what would happen to him now.

A stream of unanswered questions followed this unwelcome revelation. How angry was Dumbledore? Would he blame Snape for all this? Would he demand that he return to the Dursleys? Harry found himself caring far less than he would have expected to the answers. It did not matter what Dumbledore thought. Harry didn't care anymore for his input into his life. This was between him and Snape now, and the headmaster had no say as far as he was concerned.

''No,'' Snape's voice broke through, demanding to be heard. Had Harry not spent so much time with him recently, he would've missed the sudden urgency. ''The boy's removal may not be immediately necessary.''

Harry strained his ears harder, unable to believe that Snape would wish him to stay, especially in his current condition.

''I would have thought you'd welcome such a relief, my boy,'' Dumbledore replied, confusion clear in his voice. ''If I may say it, you look hardly better than Harry does. When was the last time you slept a full night? I should never have subjected you to this-''

''I have a suggestion,'' Snape cut him off, dismissing the other man's words as if they were nothing but a brief irritation. ''I believe that I may have discovered a means of bringing a permanent end to the Potter's headaches. Once the worst of the fever is over it could take immediate action.''

The reply Snape received to this was silent. Harry could only guess it was assent to continue as his eyelids remained glued together, his face carefully impassive in the perfect illusion of sleep. He no longer wanted them to know he was listening. He'd learnt far too late that to get anything out of Dumbledore he had to appear incapacitated in some way. He'd no doubt that they'd take this conversation elsewhere if they knew he was awake.

''I think Potter needs counselling.'' Harry heard the wince behind Snape's words and fought not to do the same.

''Is that so, Severus? I was under the impression that this was simply a case of extreme over exertion-''

''Not at all headmaster,'' Snape said curtly, with the beginnings of impatience. ''I do believe it played a part but occlumency, not being one of the boy's greatest talents, has reduced his mind to only its simplest form of defence. He has become more vulnerable to nightmares. His darker memories have been remerging, despite our best efforts to keep them at bay. The cause I believe, has been progressing long before my own intervention into his mind. He has allowed these memories to burden him for far too long. I have simply released. Empowered them.''

There was silence once again. Harry knew Dumbledore pondering this theory, assessing its validity.

''And of which memories in particular as we speaking of? Forgive me If I am being slow, Severus,'' he said quietly, ''but I had not assumed that Harry were coping badly with his current burdens. If anything, he has proved more than capable of acting well above his age.''

Harry had to fight himself really hard not to rip open his eyes and see Snape's expression to such an ignorant assumption.

To add to the friction, Dumbledore was not taking into account the fact that Snape may have changed his opinion on his student. Harry doubted that, even if by some miracle, he had, Snape would be reluctant to share such truths. The man had to be walking a tight line here, one of remaining loyal and consistent to Dumbledore and keeping his word to Harry.

''I do not think you have appreciated all that Harry has suffered during his life, Albus. I don't think any of us have,'' Snape explained slowly, carefully. ''He had been under intense stress. As much as he tries to hide it, the issue can no longer be ignored.''

A small glow ignited in Harry's chest as Snape's used his first name, said with such fluidity now that it sounded almost natural. He wondered whether Dumbledore had noticed...

Again there was a heavy silence that stretched on, pushing Harry's self discipline yet further. He could tell, even through his blindness, that the atmosphere between these two wizards had changed since the last time they'd been together. There was a distinct chilliness, an unnecessary formality in Snape's manner that Harry had not witnessed directed at Dumbledore before. He could not dare himself to believe that it was on his behalf.

But Dumbledore had abandoned Snape also had he not? He'd been alone and unguided with Harry when that was probably the last thing he wanted. He was bound to be resentful.

''The muggles he lives with...'' Snape continued slowly, obvious reluctance in his voice. Harry could sense the hesitation and knew the man was uneasy with the thought of betraying him.

Snape seemed to gain confidence as he went on, as if he was sure he was acting for the best. ''They did not welcome the boy.''

''I am aware of this,'' Dumbledore responded, a little more impatiently. ''Petunia agreed to take Harry when I explained to her the role she must play in his survival. It is her reluctant care for Harry that has ensured his safety for the past-''

''Care?'' Snape sneered the word. ''You are deluded.''

''Severus,'' Dumbledore reprimanded lightly, a warning in his voice now. ''Let us not play games. What is it that you wish to tell me?''

There was silence for so long that Harry gave up on his act.

''It's ok, sir,'' he said calmly, relieving Snape of his responsibility. He shuffled into a sitting position, blinking sleepily. He was all too aware of his audience. His eyes quickly adjusted to the glumness of the room and he observed two figures standing at the foot of his bed, both facing him with matching looks of worry and surprise.

''You are awake,'' Snape stated unnecessarily. His face was tense and drawn in anxiety, but despite this, he was still able to glare at Harry, a reprimand in his eyes for his deception.

Harry shrugged, unapologetic. ''You were talking about me,'' he said flatly, as if this were a greater crime than eavesdropping.

Snape sighed his frustration. ''You are utterly relentless-''

''There is no need for that, Severus,'' Dumbledore warned, casting a disapproving glance in Snape's direction. ''Harry is very ill. We must-''

''Don't you tell him how to treat me!'' Harry snapped loudly, though he regretted it immediately. Not for the incomprehension and hurt that flashed across the headmaster's face, or the small smirk of approval that tugged at the lips of his surprised mentor, but for the tremor that wracked trough his body. Harry's harsh, loud words had been too forceful for his weak body to handle.

A firm, clenching hand was placed on his shoulder, rooting him. Clamping his eyes shut, Harry drew strength from the contact as he waited for the intense nausea to pass.

''Breathe, Harry,'' a distant voice demanded and he did. Harry gasped and heaved as warm, blissful air filled his lungs once again.

As his head became clearer and his body slowly relaxed, Harry made to shrug the hand off, but when he looked up into Snape's tense face, full of all the signs of stress, all there because of him, he couldn't bring himself to.

''That was foolish,'' Snape stated, frowning in disapproval.

Harry could not disagree. It was only when he had stopped shaking completely that Snape withdrew his hand, and clasped it behind his back.

Apologising, Harry looked reluctantly back up at the headmaster. For once, he was honoured by the full force of those piercing blue eyes staring right into his. Yet they were different to how he remembered, lacking the calm and certainty usually so effortlessly exerted. They were rimmed with dark circles and his face, already wrinkled with age, was further lined with exhaustion. His travelling cloak was creased and dirty, as though it had been worn for days.

''Hello, Harry,'' he said quietly. His intense gaze shifted to Snape for a swift moment, curiously, before reclaiming Harry's attention.

Harry looked away almost instantaneously, his voice stuck somewhere in his throat. It seemed their roles were to be reversed, for he could not now find it in himself to look at the man.

''Oh, Harry.'' Dumbledore was weary now, apologetic and looking for forgiveness. ''What have I done?''

Harry didn't speak. He couldn't. He realised that he had nothing pleasant left he wished to say to this man. For all his desires to have him back, he wanted nothing more now than for him to leave, and spare him the pain of seeing him. He would not allow himself to be drawn back into a false sense of security. It would only hurt more when he was dropped again without so much as a warning.

''I hear you are unwell, Harry,'' Dumbledore continued when he didn't get a response. ''Can you tell me where it is hurting? Do you wish to tell me of these memories?''

Harry couldn't help the scowl that plastered itself to his face and refused to budge. Now the man wanted to talk to him after nothing but months of unanswered letters and blatant dismissal. No. He would not answer. He wouldn't even look at him.

''Harry.'' It was not Dumbledore's voice this time, but Snape's. ''The headmaster asked you a question.''

Harry glanced at his mentor, almost disbelieving, but the look Snape was giving him was not threatening, merely warning. They both knew this confrontation was inevitable. Albus Dumbledore was part of both their lives and would be until this war was over. Harry needed him and he knew it. The air had to be clear before it became further infumed.

Harry tried to portray his anxiety through the silent exchange, somehow feeling much closer to Snape when confronted with an issue that he was uncomfortable with. The man had seen him at his worst, after all, and had not yet got rid of him. He had become Harry's backbone.

Snape could read Harry's anxiety only too well. No words were needed. However, it was not his place to fight the boy's battles.

Raising an eyebrow, he glanced away, ignoring his instincts which fought to shelter the weak boy, and instead forced Harry to confront his fears.

Sighing shakily, Harry levelled his gaze to Dumbledore's and attempted to portray more sturdiness than he currently felt. He may as well get this over and done with.

''I am fine, headmaster,'' he said stiffly and extremely reluctantly.

''I sincerely doubt that, my boy,'' Dumbledore replied immediately, shaking his head. His voice was so kind, his face so friendly, warm and lined with age, that it refused Harry the picture of evil that he'd come to associate with the headmaster in his mind's eye. It made it all that much harder to be angry with him, and to remember all that he'd done to him.

''I...You...Why?'' he ground out finally, unable to stand the tension much longer. ''Why now? Why this? Why everything?''

Dumbledore regarded him sadly. ''I am sorry it has come to this, Harry,'' he said solemnly, looking appropriately remorseful, but for all of it, Harry couldn't forgive him so readily. ''I truly am.''

''Why weren't you here?'' he whispered, asking the questions that had seemed so important a short while ago. Now they were just a dull aching throb somewhere deep inside that had been overshadowed by recent events. ''Why was I told nothing all summer? Why was I left alone?''

Dumbledore began to answer but he'd been all to ready for this question for Harry not to be suspicious.

''And the truth. Please. No more lies. I can't stand...'' He took another deep breath and a hesitant hand was placed shoulder. ''Just tell me the truth or leave me alone.''

He looked up again at Snape, feeling foolish for doing so, but the need for reassurance was almost frightening. His emotions were all under such strain he hardly trusted himself to say the right thing.

Snape too looked surprised at the repeated gesture he'd made, but for some reason he needed contact with the boy just as much as Harry did in this moment. He needed him to know that he was here. The boy was in a state already, and he knew this confrontation would be hard for him. And since Harry seemed to draw courage from him, as absurd as that seemed, who was he to refuse it?

Snape gave him a small nod and watched, in wonder, as Harry seemed to gather strength from the simple gesture. Had Harry forgotten who he was? Surely he couldn't need contact with _him_ for this? A wave of defensiveness closed in on him after a long moment of staring into Harry's determined face, and he felt extraordinarily protective over him. He wondered when it had become this. Him and the boy against Dumbledore. Him and the boy against everything that opposed progress.

Harry turned his eyes back on Dumbledore, stronger than before, feeling once again the urge and the motivation to care for answers. ''You left me. All summer you abandoned me-''

Dumbledore opened his mouth, to protest no doubt, but Harry held up a hand to distil his speech, just as Snape would have done. The act and the expression on his face was such like that of his mentor, that Dumbledore's attention was momentarily turned on his staff. His face was one of extreme curiosity and concern.

Snape met his eyes, offering no explanation. He appeared equally as caught off guard by the simularity.

''...You cut me off and I want to know why. I _trusted_ you. I needed you.'' Harry could feel all the anger he'd felt over the summer remerge and swell in his chest. He did not try and suppress it. He'd needed to get this out for a long while.

''You made me tell you everything that had happened in the graveyard. _Everything_. So you knew how I was feeling... how much I -- how much it hurt. I saw Cedric die for god's sake! You do not abandon someone after they've been through that!''

Dumbledore closed his eyes. To his credit, he looked defeated. He did not try to stop Harry or make excuses for himself, as he teen vented his frustrations. He looked like a man accused and pleading guilty.

''I do believe I owe you an apology, Harry,'' he said finally, when Harry paused to draw breath. ''Many in fact.''

Snape's hand tightened on his shoulder and Harry knew he was finding it hard not to make his own feelings in this matter known. It was not in Snape's nature to hold back with his opinion.

''I don't want apologies. I don't care about how you feel,'' Harry lied. ''I want to know why you did it, and what made you think I deserved it.''

''You did not deserve such treatment, Harry, let us clear that misconception now. I never wanted it to be that way. As for your other question, the answer is very simple,'' Dumbledore answered with a small attempt at a smile. It was not returned. ''I was incapacitated.''

Harry shook his head. ''I asked you not to li-''

''Listen to him, Potter,'' Snape spoke from above him, though he too sounded uncertain.

''I see that it is not just you, Harry, that I need to convince,'' Dumbledore said, his eyes straying to Snape for a short moment. ''I really have got myself into a hole here, haven't I?''

Neither man answered and Dumbledore allowed himself a small, true smile at their joint expressions. Maybe something at least could be gained from this. Snape and Harry comradeship was something he'd always hoped for but never honestly considered as a true possibility -- his optimism did not quite stretch that far. To have himself proved wrong and witness their agreement, however fragile and perhaps temporary, warmed and encouraged him.

What a pair they made, both staring at him with identical looks of betrayal. Though, despite his pleasure, Dumbledore felt his heart sink as he took a measure of just how much he had hurt them.

''I have been doing my part in the fight against Voldemort,'' he explained calmly, no hint of desperation or rush in the way he spoke. ''I became a little too consumed by it, I admit. Other... commitments were not my priority when they should have been.''

Harry used everything Snape had taught him to keep the emotion from his face as he regarded the headmaster, but for all his effort, he knew he was failing miserably. He felt tired and rejected and all too ill for this.

''I had not forgotten you, Harry,'' he said softly, and watched sadly as Harry tensed in denial. ''I could never-''

''So what _were_ you doing?'' Harry asked, pushing the soft words aside. ''No one could find you. Not even the Order.''

''I am afraid I cannot answer you that,'' Dumbledore said regretfully. ''You shall know in time but not today. Not like this.''

Harry felt his teeth grit together and allowed his mouth to project all the bitter thoughts he was screaming inside. He wasn't going to pretend like he didn't care anymore because he did, and no matter how childish or immature it may be to be affected as dramatically as this, he couldn't find it in him to care.

''Like I wasn't supposed to know about the prophecy, or about what my dreams meant? Like I wasn't supposed to know that Voldemort is looking for me... trying to kill me? Tell me, Dumbledore, because I really can't understand... How is it exactly that you've been trying to protect me? First you ignore me and then you send me here to this hell hole.'' The hand on Harry's shoulder stiffened but he ignored it, too wrapped up in the heat of what he was saying. ''All I could think was that you were trying to make me as miserable as possible...''

''No,'' Dumbledore whispered, ''never...''

''You have no idea...'' Harry muttered angrily, but neither man had trouble understanding him. His words were like ice through the air, his eyes blackened by anger. ''What I went through...You made me feel like that. _You_ and him. You make my life hell. You sent me _here_ to Snape when you knew how much he hated me... And how much I hated him. You couldn't have done more to make me miserable, so don't you dare deny it. You knew _exactly_ what you were doing!''

The silence that hung off the back of this sentence set Harry alive with goosebumps. Snape's hand was retracted so suddenly it was as though he'd been electrified. The man strode from the room with a stiff, 'excuse me,' without giving either Harry or Dumbledore the chance to call him back.

It took Harry a few moments to realise what he'd said and connect it with Snape's reaction. He frowned in confusion. Snape knew just as well as he did of their history of mutual dislike. Harry had not said anything untrue and he saw no reason for the man to find it hurtful, not to the extent that his abrupt departure suggested.

Whatever way Harry looked at it, Snape _had_ made his life here hell. There'd been no dishonesty in his words. He looked up at Dumbledore, wondering whether it was his fault, and not his own, that had caused Snape to leave the conversation, but the headmaster was not looking at him. He had a far off look in his eyes as if he too were trying to work something out.

Harry crossed his arms across his chest and sighed. Snape had tried very hard at making him unhappy, he couldn't possibly blame him for voicing it. Things had moved on for the better between them, Harry would admit, but that could never change what had transpired before. There were dark gaps in his past, pit less holes of misery that not so long ago, Snape helped to create. No, Harry would not forget the way he had been treated. Never.

But that didn't stop him wondering and worrying. Maybe he'd judged Snape too soon. He made it _so_ hard to know how he felt. Guilt swiftly welled up inside of Harry, despite his rejection of blame. Being a cause of hurt to Snape was not something he wanted to be. He needed to find him and explain.

He almost forgot the headmaster's presence as he stared at the heavy oak door, and wished that Snape would come striding back through with his usual glare and they could carry on as before.

''He understands, Harry,'' Dumbledore said quietly, startling him slightly. ''He may not know it yet, but he will acknowledge-''

''What do you know?'' Harry bit back, not caring anymore about what Dumbledore felt about him. As far as he was concerned, their relationship was over.

''Not enough, I confess,'' Dumbledore replied, still deeply apologetic. ''But I know Severus. He is a complicated man, Harry, and is not easily communicated with.''

''Tell me about it,'' Harry muttered, running a weary hand over his face.

Dumbledore inched closer to his bedside, and though Harry turned away, he knew, no matter how angry he was with the man, he could never decline him the chance to explain himself. Dumbledore was back and there was very little he could do about it. He would have to hear him out.

He closed his eyes briefly, wanting nothing more than anything for the headmaster to leave and allow him to sleep again. He felt far less confident without Snape at his shoulder, but he knew he wasn't strong enough to find the man. Getting him to talk would also be a near impossible challenge.

''I'm listening,'' he said finally.

Dumbledore sighed, and the vibrations seemed to run through his whole body, moving the entire of his thin frame with its impact.

''Then allow me to try to explain,'' he said, summoning a chair and sitting beside Harry's bed. ''I know I owe you a fully honest explanation, but I ask you to be patient-''

Harry opened his mouth, outraged, but Dumbledore hurried to console him.

''More so than you have been already. There are things that I cannot tell you and you must respect that. What I _can_ tell you however should, I hope, satisfy some of your confusion, my boy.''

Harry looked wary. ''Go on then. I'm listening,'' he repeated.

Dumbledore nodded, sat back, adjusted his glasses on his crooked nose and begun his story.


	18. Coming To Terms With Affection

-----

Several floors below Dumbledore and Harry, Snape was moving swiftly between a dozen spitting cauldrons, attempting to work out why he currently felt as though someone had punched him in the gut.

If it wasn't for his relentless pride, he would gladly admit that the careless remarks of one problematic, unruly teenager, directed towards him with such honest hurt, could have knocked him so, but as things were, he could barely stand it. Such an account of personal dislike from a student towards whom he'd grown strangely fond, had turned Snape towards familiar self-loathing and bitterness.

Harry had not said anything particularly unpredictable, or unexpected, but the look of utter misery on his face when he'd expressed such undeniable hatred towards his mentor, had unbalanced Snape, disturbing him into reluctant re-awareness of own his conscience, and a sudden preference for an alternative, more appreciative view on his person.

With the knowledge of Harry's haunted past added to the equation, still so fresh in his mind, the impact of his harsh truths had been multiplied tenfold, pinching Snape in places he was not even aware that he still had. It had taken him off guard, as so many things did that were related to Harry. Feeling more ill at ease than he could risk hiding under his impassive mask, Snape had fled.

Looking back now, he realised it may have been foolish, and hardly subtle, to have left so abruptly and without explanation, but if his cowardly escape ensured his mask with still intact, he would consider his impulsive actions a success.

Snape ran a hand through his oily hair, scowling. He could blame no one but himself for his current predicament. Ever since the boy's first day at Hogwarts, he had ensured an extensive amount of conflict between them. He never thought he'd live to see himself regret that decision.

With knowledge of their potential compatibility, Snape could only berate himself for pushing Harry towards such aversion for him. To consider now, all the vital things he could have taught the boy and the peace they could have shared, cast him into turmoil.

If nothing else, Harry was Lily's son. It was clear as day, and Snape had rejected a part of her that would have complimented his life beautifully.

The possibility that he may have been able to offer his personal guidance to the boy at an earlier stage, when he was perhaps in greatest need of it, fresh from eleven years at the Dursley's, therefore altering the course of history between them entirely, made Snape's chest constrict so tightly, and his head ache with such regret and bitterness, that he refused it free passage through his thoughts.

Dark eyes, unfocused as they stared into the depths of the nearest potion, widened as Snape fought the tide of emotions that threatened him. He hissed in agitation and his knuckles whitened around the rod he was using, mindlessly stirring. He hated himself now, more than ever. Affection was a weakness. He had given Harry the greatest weapon possible.

He summoned all the bitter, hateful feelings he'd ever had for Harry, but they simply didn't have the substance to sustain a reasonable argument in defence for his current state of mind.

---

''You have to understand. I had no choice, Harry-''

''Wait a minute,'' Harry interrupted, closing his eyes as he leant back against the headboard with a weary sigh. ''You mean that _you_, Albus Dumbledore, with all your power and wiseness and... endless resources, couldn't find another way -- one that didn't involve blatantly ignoring me -- to stop Voldemort getting to you through my mind?''

''You flatter me, Harry. If I were a wise man, I would indeed have used the resources at my disposal to ensure your comfort this summer. I admit, I never thought for a moment that you would find my absence quite so difficult.''

Harry snorted. ''Sir, I'd just duelled with Voldemort. I'd seen my parents. My _dead_ parents. They talked to me. Cedric talked to me, after he -- after I failed to save him.'' Harry swallowed, dropping his watery gaze onto his lap. ''You had to have known how that would affect me.''

Dumbledore remained silent, sad eyes resting on Harry's bowed head with deep, unexplainable regret.

---

Snape's eyes sharpened critically as they regarded the mass of colourless gloop that had previously been a thriving potion, now lost under his lack of attentiveness. With a flick of his wand, the waste disappeared.

Tightening his lips, Snape began again, though his mind was far from his work. Harry. Harry. Harry. He damned the boy, and every positive emotion he encouraged.

As he currently saw it, the headmaster's arrival had presented him with a variety of difficult decisions. Harry would either be taken, or Snape would have to admit his preference to keep him.

If Harry did leave, he would, in time, forget their growing closeness throughout the summer and all its implications. Term would start again with September and Snape would ensure that his biased, unfavourable treatment of Harry was the same as it ever was. It would not be hard to get the boy to resume such a loathing of him.

Snape's throat constricted involuntarily at the thought, and he stood up sharply, pacing restlessly in the little space he had.

He could continue with his original plan -- the one that he was much more inclined, yet more cautious to follow. He could insist on keeping Harry, for education purposes, until the summer was complete. To let Harry go now would be untidy. There was far too much left undiscovered, in all aspects of their time at the manor. Snape was too curious to willingly detach himself from a boy whom he'd grown so intrigued by.

In an ideal world, they would soon be able to continue training. However, this decision also had its consequences. The delicate bond that had grown between them, irrespective of both their best efforts to deny it, would develop further. Harry would become more dependent on him. Their relationship would become irreversible and permanent.

While such a union appealed to Snape in many ways, he was not without deep scepticism. It would leave him vulnerable and open to disappointment. He did not like to be unprepared, not when such recklessness had the potential to hurt him.

Harry's company would undoubtedly be engaging over the remainder of the summer, if he chose to stay. It would ease Snape's long suffering loneliness and give him a purpose. It was very tempting to allow it. But then he would have to retain such a subsequent relationship that developed, even during school, as Snape had been furious with the headmaster for gaining the boy's trust, guiding him and then abandoning him. Snape could not be a hypocrite and do the exact same, as much as he was uncomfortable with openly accepting Harry in front of his Slytherins.

When he had to catch himself for the third time before he administered a wrong, lethal ingredient to the potion, Snape forced himself to sit down, away from his work before he caused an explosion. Usually his precious potions soothed his mind, yet here he was, forced to distance himself from them. Snape knew exactly who to blame for this and it infuriated him.

The clock ticked loudly on the wall just above his head, and Snape's mind drifted towards the conversation upstairs. He'd no doubt the boy would forgive... eventually. A sudden brush of anger distracted him at the thought. For selfish reasons, he wanted Harry to remain just as mad at the headmaster as he was, but the Gryffindor was far too open minded and naive to hold such grudges.

Dumbledore would win him round, as he always did, and Harry would be vulnerable to hurt once again. Before Snape could even consider thinking himself averse to this idea, he resumed his pacing. Harry was going to get hurt in his life, on numerous occasions. He couldn't prevent that, and he'd no right to want to.

Snape let out a deep breath, allowing his thoughts to flitter across his mind, slowing them down in order to view them casually. It seemed there was no direction to their pattern of attack. He would just have to endure them.

It would be so easy, to pretend it never happened... almost too easy. Snape damned the part of him that ridiculously, undeservedly, selfishly, unjustifiably, wanted to protect and be responsible for the boy, which made it so hard to pretend that he didn't care.

He dredged up, desperately, all the possible hopes that he could fathom that would deny him a connection with Harry. The only respite he could see, was that when the summer came to a merciful end, he would have done all he could to help Harry, and then this feeling that he wanted to be doing something more, playing a bigger role, would simply evaporate because he knew it was impossible, and more than inappropriate. But would it all play out that simply? It was a distant hope. As much as he craved an easy solution, a coward's escape, Snape severely doubted in its reality. He got himself into a stupid, reckless, entirely unwanted situation and would now pay the price.

Snape could not deny the dim shadow of ever growing fear that enveloped him at the thought of the boy's departure. When Harry had learnt all he could from him, and took his leave, an emptiness would be left that not time nor space could fill, not now he'd known the potential companionship he could have with the boy. Snape snorted loudly. Companionship with Potter? Whoever would have thought it could come to mean so much to him? He'd been with the boy what... a few weeks? It was pathetic.

Besides, after Harry's earlier projection of dislike, Snape doubted he'd even be able to convince the boy to stay.

The door to the potions lab creaked open. A long silver beard emerged, followed by the tall, wrinkled form of Albus Dumbledore.

''Albus.'' Snape rose swiftly to his feet, his long black robe flapping about his knees as he stepped forward. The older man's abrupt presence did not give him much chance to compose himself. The last thing he needed was Dumbledore asking questions, for he'd no doubt that he'd object to a positive relationship between himself and the boy that stretched further than student-teacher. He was hardly an appropriate role model for the world's young hero.

''Severus.'' Dumbledore stepped into the room, wearing a grave expression. Soft puffs of air appeared in front of his face as the temperature decreased. ''Harry has returned to sleep. I believe our meeting today has tired him somewhat.''

''I imagine it would.''

There was a moment of silence, their gazes locked, and then Dumbledore had cleared his throat, glanced away and was moving between the cauldrons, with determination, poking his nose curiously into individuals that took his notice.

''You have searched quite thoroughly for a cure,'' he stated approvingly.

''You were not here,'' Snape returned bluntly, watching Dumbledore's progress warily, with narrowed eyes. ''What else was I to do?''

Dumbledore's eyes closed for the briefest of seconds in response to the harsh tone, as though he was in pain.

Snape's lip curled unsympathetically at the gesture. Being much harder than Harry, he was not so consumed by the desperation in that small request for forgiveness.

Keeping his face deliberately hard, Snape pulled his robe across his chest, folded his arms and professionally explained the progress he'd made, while allowing his eyes to wander critically over the headmaster. He surmised that there was a sturdiness in the older man's movement, and colour in his cheeks, that had been seriously lacking in their last meeting.

However, there was a distinct air of submissiveness about him, along with a significant lack of confidence, like a man with his tail between his legs. It faintly nauseated the potions master to witness it. Refraining from comment, Snape concentrated on his relief. It was a considerable weight lifted from his shoulders to know that Dumbledore at least appeared healthy.

''I can see that great dedication has been applied to this task, Severus,'' Dumbledore nodded sincerely when Snape had reached a short conclusion. ''I am extremely prou-''

''I do not need any false praise, Albus,'' Snape sneered, suddenly irritated and unprepared to immediately bow to his former, submissive role and rely on the headmaster's encouragement. He was not doing this for him, but for the boy.

Dumbledore gave a small frown, sighing gently. ''What would you like me to say, Severus? What can I possibly do to gain redemption for my disloyalty?''

Snape gave the headmaster an extreme look of disdain, concealing the desire to lash out at the man further for his ridiculous, careless request. ''Reverse the clocks, Albus, I have no doubt that you are capable. Remove from my memory the depiction of unnecessary pain and hopelessness that has been plastered to the boy's face in your absence. Allow sleepless nights and foul retching to take permanent residence in your own mind. Take it from me.''

Dumbledore breathed sorrowfully, the corners of his eyes wrinkling into a small, guilty wince. ''I do not even begin to assume that I can imagine what Harry and yourself have experienced over the past week... But I could not possibly, as much as I would like-''

''Then do not apologise! If you cannot reconcile your faults, do not waste your breath with empty condolences. I do not need your words of compassion. I can comprehend, without difficulty, the selfish reasons for your absence. I know how quite well how seriously you take your role for the greater good.''

''Severus, you must understand, my deficiency was not intentional,'' Dumbledore replied immediately, repeating the words he had spoken to Harry. ''However, the removal of Harry from your care, as you so wish it, can be arranged.''

''I did not...I do not request his departure. The boy can stay,'' Snape interjected firmly. ''He shall be cured and training shall resume. It will be finished.''

''That seems remarkably optimistic, my boy,'' Dumbledore sighed, troubled.

''Regardless, I think that Potter should have a say in his own lodgings. His temperament is not becoming when he is ill suited to his environment.''

''Are you suggesting that your manor is the ideal location for the boy?'' Dumbledore asked, staring intently at Snape. ''That with you, he shall fair best?''

Snape swallowed, stiffening. ''Is that not what you implied by forcing him upon me in the first place, Albus? I have not yet completed the task you set me. I am merely suggesting that Potter should, if he wishes it, be able to continue his training without your disapproval.''

Dumbledore sighed, hands folding into his lap. ''It is strange that Harry should express a similar desire.''

Snape's eyes snapped up sharply. ''He what?''

Something incomprehensible flickered in Dumbledore's eyes and he lowered his voice to answer. ''Harry, after listening rather impatiently to all I had to say, was quite adamant that I allow him to remain where he is. He is confident in your care, though...'' Dumbledore scratched his cheek absently. ''He seems to greatly oppose the idea of being a burden. It is not my decision he awaits, but yours. If you wished him to leave and continue his training elsewhere, he could not make a fuss-''

''We have discussed this, Albus. I am not finished with the boy,'' Snape said, deliberately preoccupying himself with a potion to avoid eye contact. He had revealed far too much already. ''I will not be cheated out of credit for his eventual success. I want my name in the papers as his personal trainer with the victory of the final battle.''

A small smile flittered across Dumbledore's face with Snape's humour. He knew he'd let Snape down, in equal measures as he had Harry, but in the formers case, he feared there was little chance of a pardon. Snape was not a man to forget, nor a man to hold back on expressing anger. It was a rare thing to gain the trust of Severus Snape and he had betrayed it. Dumbledore deserved this coldness, he knew it, but it still hurt to know he'd lost all the confidence he'd built up in his younger friend over the years.

''It is the boy you must speak with,'' Snape repeated quietly, not meeting the headmaster's eyes. ''He you must convince of your sincerity. You cannot take him from... his training. Removing Potter now will only make him, foolishly, consider himself an entire failure. He is predictably melodramatic in his response to that of which he does not approve.''

''Indeed he is,'' Dumbledore gave a small, fond smile, appreciating Snape's rarely accurate analysis of the boy. ''Though his co-operation is proving most difficult to attain. Harry is most...stubborn.''

Snape let out a soft snort. ''Did you think it would be easy? That you could just waltz back into is life with your eloquent excuses, and expect him to drop everything he's been holding onto so hard for the last few weeks, and welcome you with unprejudiced understanding? No, you have you work cut out for you this time, Albus. You have struck a nerve with the boy.''

Snape watched, without pity, as Dumbledore sighed unnaturally heavily and twiddled his hands in his beard in a nervous gesture. Snape shook his head, fighting the urge to put his head in his hands. He didn't need this. If this was how it was going to be, then the headmaster may have well as stayed away. He was no help to Snape anymore anyhow. His intervention couldn't replace the walls between himself and Harry that had been steadily crumbling before their very eyes, and that was all he cared for. Training Harry was no longer an issue, as his previous reluctances had been all but washed away.

What Snape feared now was the headmaster's questioning of it. He was an open book, as it was possible for a man like him to be, where Dumbledore was concerned. Snape knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that the older, wiser man, would see right through his defences at the very mention of Harry's name. He'd no wish to give Dumbledore the satisfaction of knowing, that after everything, after all their arguments and disputes over Harry Potter, Boy Who Lived, Son of James and Lily...he'd been right. He, Snape had been wrong. He'd throttle himself, and the boy, before he'd admit it.

Dumbledore regarded Snape closely in turn, not oblivious to the personal edge that darkened his words. It was most unusual, he could not deny, to see Snape so passionate and focused on something not directly connected with his own personal needs. There was a heavy anger radiating from the younger man that he could not yet pinpoint. Snape was angry with him, furious in fact, but

Dumbledore could not accurately distinguish between the hurt Snape felt for his own abandonment, and that of Harry's. He knew Snape well enough to know that he wasn't going to make it easy for him to find out exactly what it was that had ignited this reaction.

''That much has been made clear to me,'' Dumbledore said finally, bringing them both back to the present. ''Harry's trust is something I have taken very much for granted. I admit it is somewhat disconcerting to be without it.''

''Indeed,'' Snape agreed, with no comfort. ''I can see how that would put a bludger in your plans.''

He knew that his harsh words were perhaps pushing things a little far, and would not be accepted so easily had the older man still had the authority over him that he once did. But there was a ridge between them now, marked with doubt and distrust. It had left them on unsettled ground and Snape could tell that Dumbledore still seemed unsure of where he stood. He'd no desire to put the man at ease.

''You have no idea what I had to contend with when you left me the boy, Albus,'' Snape murmured darkly, ''he was nothing short of an emotional wreck when I took him from his muggle relatives. I knew that he would be kept oblivious of certain movements within the Order, and of the outside world...''

Dumbledore flinched, but did not interrupt.

''I was forced to contend with a near suicidal teenager. He was not sleeping, eating, or retaining any measure of personal hygiene. He knew nothing about the world's darkest wizard, which, if you hadn't forgotten, Albus, he'd fought within an inch of his life only weeks before, and suffered an experience of which his peers could only imagine-''

Dumbledore raised a hand as Snape's voice rose. His pale face was flushed with colour, as he let loose some of the pent up frustrations and bitterness he'd experienced in the older man's absence.

''Let us not get over dramatic, Severus,'' Dumbledore said gently, taken off guard slightly by the pure anger in Snape's voice. He was not sure yet whether it was on his own behalf, or Harry's. He had his suspicions, but he knew Snape was going to do this the hard way, as always. Snape wasn't about to admit he cared for the boy, but making the argument about him and his own resentments, he could demand justice on Harry's behalf without exposing himself.

''Severus...'' Dumbledore whispered, closing his eyes briefly as slowly, and painfully, realisation dawned. Snape's hand on Harry's shoulder, the defensiveness in his eyes... His anger... It made sense now. He'd been a fool not to predict this. He should have known Harry would get through to Snape. He'd underestimated the boy.... He'd underestimated them both.

Snape opened his mouth, a scornful reply on the tip of his tongue, but he closed it again a moment later, his lips forming a tight line.

''You have changed, Albus,'' he said coldly, brushing past to see to another of his potions.

''And so have you,'' Dumbledore replied seriously, following him with his eyes, ''though in a far more favourable way than I, I am sure.''

Snape shot him a scathing look. ''If you have only come to confuse me with your ridiculous riddles, feel free to leave-''

''I may have failed in retaining Harry's trust,'' Dumbledore spoke as if he hadn't heard Snape at all. ''Yet you, Severus, have succeeded in gaining his confidence in such a short period...'' He eyed the younger man, deeply curious, and continued in a softer tone. ''I wonder what has transpired here, that has had such an effect on the both of you.''

Snape blinked against the searching look in Dumbledore's eyes, unsure of what it was he was looking for. Conviction and sincerity in his tolerance with the boy perhaps? Or something deeper...Whatever it was, he didn't like it. He turned his head sharply before the man could get a hold on his emotions.

''I am not a great master of potions, Severus,'' Dumbledore said, having wandered forwards as Snape remained stonily silent. ''But I would say you are very close to a successful antidote. This one.'' He pointed with a long, bony finger.

Snape peered inside the cauldron, taken off guard by the sudden change in direction their conversation had taken. When he looked up again, it was a grave expression that met his own.

''I am not unaware of the extent to which I have isolated Harry. It was for a purpose, Severus. I admit, I was foolish-''

''What did you expect?'' Snape snapped, annoyed with himself for arguing on Harry's behalf, but unable to stop. ''You simply abandoned him. You have no idea how much-''

''I do now, Severus, thank you,'' Dumbledore settled him calmly. ''I believe you.''

Snape stared at him for a moment, before jerking his head forwards in a nod, not trusting himself to speak any further on the matter. Harry could fight his own battles, he'd made his point known. Whether Dumbledore chose to act on it now was up to him. Snape had no more right to demand anything. Harry was not his to defend.

''I cannot stay long, Severus,'' Dumbledore said suddenly, as a shrill beeping from his wrist broke through the icy silence that had settled between them. ''My assessment of Harry's fever has been as conclusive as I could hope to expect. I believe he is over the worst. However, I am forced to agree with you that his mental capabilities are somewhat weakened. It cannot continue, Severus. Occlumency was not required, but with the merest brush against his mind, I could have exposed his darkest secrets...''

''I am aware,'' Snape replied, keeping his voice as flat and expressionless as possible. ''You know of my suggestion.''

''Hmm...'' Dumbledore eyed him closely for a moment before flicking his eyes to his watch, much to Snape's frustration. ''There is much we must discuss...''

Snape's eyes narrowed. ''Then let us discuss it,'' he replied sharply. ''Unless there is somewhere else you would rather be?''

''Severus, I cannot-''

''Where have you been, Albus?'' he turned the discussion again, not to be distracted. ''Or are we to avoid the subject further? Has it been a personal escapade you have been enjoying, or are you to claim you've knowledge to be _shared_ between the Order?''

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow marginally at this. He recognised the implied. ''I would not keep my whereabouts a secret from the Order were it not strictly necessary. I am as loyal as I ever was to-''

''Ah, so you do not plan to share the findings of your... little trip, with those others who are risking their lives-''

''Severus,'' Dumbledore warned, firmer this time. A dangerous glint in his eye let Snape know that while he would tolerate some over forwardness in his part, with regard to their current standing, there was a limit.

As much as this irritated Snape, he was glad for the re-emergence of the man's assertiveness. He needed to hear it almost as Dumbledore needed to reinitiate it. They had been here before and they both knew the disquiet between them would not last; they'd too much history, and too much depending on the other. Yet, that did not mean the man was forgiven, and Snape kept his eyes hard as Dumbledore explained himself further.

''I have told Harry all that I was able. He is now aware of the reasons for my absence, if he is still resentful. The important thing is he that he is content in that knowledge for the time being. The same will occur at the Order meeting I've yet to attend. There are no... _unnecessary _secrets.''

Snape's face was expressionless. ''What exactly did you tell him?'' He needed to know what he'd be faced with when he went back up those stairs.

''The truth,'' Dumbledore answered after a careful pause. He was not used to Snape being so forthright in these matters. Conversation on Harry's wellbeing and best interests had never held the man's attention before now. The most reaction he'd ever get from Snape before was when Harry's expulsion was proposed.

''...for the most part,'' he continued, earning a snort from Snape. ''He knows now why I was unable to initiate eye contact...Why I kept my distance and why, despite all my knowledge, I effectively detached him from the wizzarding world. The rest will follow.''

''The connection, I presume, was your concern?'' Snape asked dully, in the pretence of seeming unconcerned. ''His scar? I did explain as much to the boy. Though your treatment of Potter last time you were here was hardly subtle. How did you explain away that one?''

''The connection was what disturbed me. I could not be too careful. There were too many lives at risk including his own.''

Dumbledore eyed Snape carefully for a moment before folding himself into a chair, having avoided the real question. But there was one more matter he could no longer leave un-discussed. He thought he was finally getting to the bottom of this curious business with Snape so concerned in Harry's business. He could leave the matter alone no longer.

''If I didn't know better, Severus,'' he said quietly, ''I would say you were angry with me for my treatment of our saviour. Very angry. Could you really, after all this time, come to a care for the boy?''

There was a defiant glint of something unfathomable in the headmaster's eye now. Snape kept his face carefully passive as he responded. ''Do not be a fool, Albus-''

''I can appreciate that during my absence you may have become connected with Harry in some form,'' he prodded delicately further. ''It is not...'' He wanted to say 'unexpected' but it was just this. He hadn't dared to believe that such a bond could have been created between two people with such deep oppositions to each other. He was pleasantly surprised when Snape's face coloured -- not so much that it was immediately noticeable against his sallow cheeks, but to the sharp eye, it told all. ''It is not... unreasonable.''

Snape choked, his hands whitening around the stirring rod he'd forgotten he was holding. ''I don't know wha-''

''Severus, my boy, please listen to me,'' Dumbledore requested politely, ''if time were more generous I would gladly indulge in your smokescreen, you are doing a fine job, but as stretched as we are at present, I ask that you humour me.''

Snape scowled but Dumbledore persisted, gently prying the man away from concealment and out into the open. He didn't have much time, and this needed to be dealt with as Snape was obviously doing a messy job of dealing with it alone.

''I am not blind nor am I a fool,'' he said softly, careful not to push the man too far. He was aware of the fragility in these new emotions Snape was undergoing, and didn't want to inadvertently break them. ''Even If I was, I could not miss the way that Harry looks at you. You have had quite an effect on him it seems.''

A dark look fell across Snape's features, and for a moment, he looked slightly sick. A deeply scornful retort flew from his lips, but Dumbledore spoke over him before it could be heard.

''I would not have expected it to be easy for you, Severus, to appreciate the change that has come about you. I would not press it, if I did not feel that Harry was in desperate need of a bond, now more than ever.''

''I don't know what misconceptions have fallen upon you old man, but let me assure you, my relationship with Potter is nothing short of non-existent,'' Snape said harshly. ''Do not ask me to fill the role you have vacated in abandoning the boy. I will not mollycoddle him for you!''

He ignored determinedly the very loud voice in the back of his head that was bellowing out for him to give it up. Dumbledore certainly wasn't fooled, and he'd no chance of misleading him when his own thoughts and indecisions about the boy were so at the front of his mind.

''That is not what I am asking, Severus. I was simply pointing out the understanding that has fallen between yourself and Harry. I see it in your eyes, you are not oblivious to the change,'' Dumbledore spoke, keeping his voice carefully neutral and undemanding. He wouldn't force anything on the man, but he had to make him see his position.

''I ask this of you before I leave... If you wish to keep your distance from Harry, then I suggest now is the time to do it. Another abrupt departure from his life by someone he has come to depend on would not aid his health. And have no doubt, we need him healthy, Severus. On the other hand, if you wish to play more of an active...influential role in the boy's life then, by all means, let inevitability catch up with you. And Severus...'' He eyed Snape closer still.

Snape stared defiantly back, his throat restricted to the extent that he did not yet trust himself to speak. ''You would have all the support I could offer if this is the path you choose.''

''This is not necessary, Albus,'' Snape tried to dismiss the subject, wondering only vaguely how the man could be so in tune with his thoughts.

''I know you never intended for Harry ever to like you,'' Dumbledore continued softly, not without understanding. He didn't try to imagine what Snape was going through at the moment, but he was sure it was a fairly new situation for his potions master to be presented with. Snape rarely let anyone close, but somehow Harry had got under his skin. Dumbledore was only too aware of the dangers that faced him there. ''But it has happened and were you someone else I would not be so worried...Take no offense from this, Severus but, as things are, I must offer you caution.''

Snape raised a weary eyebrow.

''Do not underestimate your potential to hurt him, my boy,'' Dumbledore clarified.

''I have always hurt him, Albus,'' Snape said finally, unsure of how to respond to this. ''He has never escaped my -''

''You misunderstand me. Your ability to hurt him now is far greater than it ever was as Harry cares for your opinion on him, that much is clear. An attack on his likability to his father, for example, would cut far deeper than it would have done had his hatred remained intact. Do you understand at all, Severus?''

''It is not my fault if the boy chooses to attach himself to me like some disease,'' Snape snarled. ''I assure you that the change in opinion is only one sided.'' Inside, Snape nodded numbly. He did know all too well and that was exactly his problem. He dismissed his anger at the blunt truth behind Dumbledore's words. He never had been able to hide anything from the man, but he'd had to try.

''Of course, Severus, of course,'' Dumbledore sighed but acknowledged that Snape might not be ready to confront these new feelings out loud yet. Even if he had, it would take him a while to share them.

Snape shot him a filthy look. ''I thought you had to leave...''

''Yes, I must,'' Dumbledore smiled at him, a gesture which wasn't returned. Sighing, he got to his feet and shook his old friends hand as though they'd been discussing nothing but the weather. ''I will be at Headquarters. I have been away for longer than I would have liked. There are people I must speak with.''

''I came here first, Severus, you must appreciate that,'' he added as he sensed the disapproval behind the indifferent expression Snape was plastering into place once again.

''I am sorry I must take my leave again so soon but I fear, without my intervention, the Orders efforts may currently be going amiss,'' he apologised yet again, but Snape only sneered his disinterest, and Dumbledore fell silent on the matter gracefully. He knew that somehow, on some level, he was forgiven, and that would have to suffice for the time being. He would not have lasted so long in Snape's presence had he not been.

Snape had no force left in him to argue. Dumbledore's will was the way. It always had been. He was powerless against it as much as he was in his forgiveness. He still owed the man from back in his own darker days... for all he'd forgiven him for, and granted him a second chance. He could not deny Dumbledore his own chance at redemption for long.

''However, there is still much more we must discuss,'' Dumbledore said, shrugging back into his worn travelling cloak. ''And I fully intend to do so.''

''Indeed,'' Snape agreed, a deeply thoughtful look adorning his features before he lifted a hesitant arm, his wand in a tight fist. He ignored Dumbledore's enquiring gaze and brought it to his temple, extracting a silvery piece of memory. This was one thing he had to do, despite all his prejudices. This was something he needed to do for Lily's sake as well as Harry's. His treatment at the Dursley's would be exposed.

He summoned a vial and sealed it.

''Ah,'' Dumbledore nodded his head with a new look of understanding. ''These are the memories I presume? -- The reason you believe Harry has been so vulnerable to the effects of occlumency?''

Snape regarded the headmaster defensively, a determination in his eye that Dumbledore rarely saw from the man.

''Potter told me many things...'' he said in a smooth, carefully detached voice. ''Perhaps more than he should. It is only right that you know his true past, Albus. You must.''

Dumbledore held out a hand, a mildly curious look on his face. After a pause, Snape dropped it lightly into his palm.

''I am aware of the discussion that awaits us,'' he said slowly, ''as I am sure you have more questions for me about the boy's illness and my accountability-''

''Severus,'' Dumbledore cut across him, ''I do not wish to speak of this now. I entrusted Harry to you, therefore, if there is blame, it is to lie with myself and no other.''

Dumbledore gave Snape no time to object as he transformed his recently vacated chair into a portkey.

''Many of the answers to Potter's illness I believe you shall find within that vial,'' Snape continued as the older man readied himself for departure. ''I have added my theory of a cure and the reasons for it. View them as you wish, though I shall not be altering from the path I have set upon. I meant what I said, Albus. You were not, here. I acted. I shall see this through. I will help him by any means possible.''

''Purely for professional reasons, my friend?'' Dumbledore asked softly as he pulled on a worn pair of gloves, his eyes twinkling ever so slightly.

''Of course.'' Snape met his gaze calmly, silently daring him to offer anything to the contrary.

Dumbledore smiled through a sigh. He knew that even if he wished to, challenging the man now would not be wise. He nodded his head shortly, pocketing the memories and fastening the buttons on his cloak as he did so.

''I trust you, Severus. I shall ask, for formalities sake, that things remain as they are, if you are acceptable. And if you wish to treat the boy...I will allow you to do so.''

''I do.'' Snape answered with relief, conscious of the fact that Dumbledore had taken his chance and reaffirmed his authority, and therefore, responsibility over both him and Harry. He was back. Snape was no longer alone, yet for all of it, he could not help but remain stubbornly ungrateful. He'd got this far, and he intended to go the rest of the way alone. He was sure that, on some level, Dumbledore understood that.

''Then twenty-four hours are yours, Severus. After that there is little I can do with regard to how things develop.''

Snape knew what this meant. Harry was stable so Dumbledore was giving him permission to try his way of caring for him, under his close gaze. When his two days were up, Sirius would be let loose and if he were to fail, the boy would be taken and the training would end. The stakes had been set.

Snape inclined his head shortly in both understanding and acceptance.

''Then I shall return tomorrow and, if Harry permits it, speak to you both about what lies in our future,'' Dumbledore assured him. ''You have done remarkably well without my intervention, and there is little now that I could do that would not, in the way things are between myself and Harry, be much help.''

Snape stared silently at him. He would never understand the workings of Albus Dumbledore, and how he could even begin trying to justify leaving again so soon. He felt it hard to be satisfied when the man had caused so much tension and aggravation when really, he'd said very little. Snape was none the wiser about where he'd been, and what exactly he'd been spending his days doing. He doubted whether they'd ever fully know the truth.

''Goodbye for now, Severus.''

Snape looked away and Dumbledore was gone, and it was as though he had never been there in the first place. The reassuring warmth that usually basked in the man's presence had left Snape as empty as it had Harry. With no further desire to think or contemplate anything at all, Snape left the confines of his potions lab. His mind was surprisingly clear, more so than it had been in days. He took the stairs slowly, one step at a time numb and cold, heading to the one place he felt he needed to be.

He was aware of the subconscious decision he'd made during the last half hour. He knew now what needed to be done to enable his peace of mind, even if he could not remember why.

------------

Harry's room had lost all of the uneasy tensions of the previous hours and now basked in a state of calm. Harry sat upright, gaze lowered onto his lap, where his legs were loosley crossed. He'd feigned sleep to rid himself of Dumbledore, who'd eventually, and Harry sensed reluctantly, left his bedside, giving him with more than enough to consider.

Surprisingly, the man had made a very decent case for himself. It made Harry wonder as to whether he'd been slightly over judgmental and selfish in his immature approach to dealing with Dumbledore's absence. His reaction had certainly been more dramatic and emotion ridden than he would have liked, but Dumbledore had taken it in his stride, deeply apologetic, which left Harry in an uncomfortable position indeed.

He'd been prepared for Dumbledore to deny the whole thing, make up more lies and gouge deeper into the cut he'd created, but the open honesty and sincere regret of the man had taken Harry off guard, and unhinged him completely.

Dumbledore had been working for the Order, it seemed. He'd been caught up in a business matter -- Something that couldn't be avioded. Harry had been ignored for his own safety and for that of others.

The reasoning was quite simple. But somehow it sounded just too vauge to Harry, and despite the ring of excuses Dumbledore had run round each of these facts, he remained cynical. He'd wanted to know more and had been denied. 'In time...' Dumbledore had said, which only meant further waiting.

Things between them had been left untidy. Dumbledore seemed not to require a resolve, tonight at least. He'd placed his palm on Harry's sweaty forehead and brushed back the damp hair that clung there in an intimate gesture. His expression was strangely closed as he realised that he may never regain Harry's trust.

He'd left with promise to return, which even now Harry could not bring himself to wholly trust.

The door creaked as it was edged open, and Harry was torn from his stupor. His back automatically straightened as Snape slowly approached his bed.

''Sir, I...'' he begun immediately, anxiety replacing the pensive expression that had previously lined his face. He had no idea what he was going to say but he felt as though he had to say something -- _anything_ to restore the balance between them that he so craved.

Snape shook his head, continuing forward, a serious look on his face that only made Harry worry more.

''Quiet,'' he instructed softly. ''And tell me...'' Dark eyes swept across Harry's exhausted form, analysing, as always, any change in his condition. ''How was your meeting with the headmaster?''

Harry swallowed, trying to read into Snape's thoughts through his face, but as always, he found the man a closed book.

''It was alright,'' Harry said, giving a small shrug. ''He's gone now.''

Snape gave a short hum of agreement, meeting the boy's hesitant stare with forced calm. He would press for further details on Dumbledore's explanation later, but now there were other areas of confusion that needed more immediate clarification.

Taking a stop closer to Harry's bedside, Snape attempted to soften the severity of his features to effectively communicate with a boy who was currently radiating such innocence. With difficulty, he smoothed the creases that lined his forehead and regarded Harry with a neutral expression. It was the best he could manage.

Harry stared back soberly. He looked sad and wary, confused and anxious.

''Please let me apologise,'' Harry whispered, suddenly unable to meet Snape's gaze. ''I...I didn't mean what I said-''

''Yes, you did,'' Snape said simply, disrupting the boy's stammering. ''The only reason I have now to reprimand you is for denying such a thing.''

''But I-''

''I am not unworthy of your aversion,'' Snape silenced him once again, his face growing more serious still. His head felt strangely clear. This is what he wanted... And more importantly, it was what he needed. He was a Slytherin, wasn't he? If this hurt Harry in the end, then he'd soon get over any guilt. He had to treasure this mad idea of a truce, as their acceptance of each other would not last. How could it under such shaky foundations?

Snape only wanted peace of mind. If a mutual understanding would treat his headaches and settle this turmoil that had been boiling inside of him, despite the fact that he couldn't understand _why_ such a thing would be so important, who was he to refuse it?

''It is not unexpected or undeserved. I know all I have done to you. I know the injustice I have pressed upon you and I am... deeply apologetic for it.'' Weak, Snape told himself. He was being ridiculously pathetic in apologising this openly. He never said sorry, he never... Harry smiled and Snape's former self-disgust and intolerance with such softness slowly melt. He barely registered his nails, digging into his palm with the force of his clenching fist.

Harry tilted his head to the side, smiling weakly. ''You're shaking.''

Snape glanced down at himself, glaring when he realised the brat was right. ''It is not every day I make such a confession,'' he remarked dryly, forcing some composure onto himself. He was both emotionally and physically beaten, which only aided Harry in knocking aside his walls one by one until he was faced with an unusually vulnerable potions master.

Harry sat wide-eyed, his lips curved into a bemused smile as Snape responded with a half- hearted smirk. He must still be sleeping. Snape couldn't have apologised to him.

''You really are saying sorry?'' Harry could not keep the amazement from his face. ''To me? For _that_?''

''I am for all that was undeserved,'' Snape said, a hint of amusement stretching his lips at Harry's obvious disbelief. ''I regret only that my treatment of you was not equivalent to that of your peers.''

Harry would take this gladly -- it was all he could expect from a man like Snape -- yet strangely it was more than enough. He knew it must have taken a lot for him to say this, and it would not have been done were there not some strong feeling behind it.

But Harry couldn't help selfishly hoping that Snape may have wanted to share more... His treatment of the average human being and of his peers was hardly humane. Harry wanted -- thought he was -- more than that to the man. He hadn't the audacity or the strength to say it, but Snape seemed to know, as infuriatingly as always, exactly what he was thinking.

A slow hesitant smile lined his face, and Harry could say it was the most precious thing he'd ever seen. A look of contentment on Snape's face was not something his imagination alone could have envisioned. It did not look peculiar or odd, how he might have guessed. It simply turned a whole new light on the man, bringing youth his face where his deep scowl lines had aged it.

''That was then,'' he said, voice deep. ''Now, however... I am open to slight variations.''

So ludicrous, Snape told himself, a brief frown flitting across his face, dislodging the other peculiar expression he used so rarely, yet so true.

Harry grinned widely. ''Good.''

''And...'' he added, filled once more with uncertainty but also with an equal amount of determination. ''I...'' He took a deep breath. ''I don't hate you anymore, sir. Not at all. And I want to say...thank you, for all you've done. And for letting me stay when I've been such a pain. I'm really grateful for when I've been ill and you've had to...and the training and ever-''

''Shut up you sentimental child,'' Snape cut across him softly, something very much akin to affection warming his black eyes. ''I know.''

Harry sighed in relief. He was aware of the line they'd just crossed, or more like leapt across with all the grace of an elephant, but it meant that despite their differences and their past, something new had to begin. They could never go back to the hostility of before so easily now that they'd voiced partially what they'd suppressed what had been mounting for a while now.

This was new, dangerous ground they were on. It scared Harry in its frailty as much as it exhilarated him with its possibilities. He'd no doubt that Snape would not change the person he was, his cruel, vindictive exterior was not so much a facade but a shadow of who he was, or at least a part of him. He was the Head of Slytherin and Harry was expecting no miracles, but even this ounce of acceptance from the man... to know that they could face each other as equals was enough, and more than he could have hoped for out of such an understanding.

Snape's tiny smile slipped away even as Harry watched, imprinting it to memory. It was as though he were uncomfortable to hold it there. Had it been anyone else, Harry would have said Snape felt self-conscious about it.

Snape cleared his throat, his face aching with the new sensation and realised for the first time, as his nerves began to fade, that the boy was shivering.

''You are cold.''

Harry shook his head, but even as he did so, he clutched the bedspread tighter around himself.

Snape raised an eyebrow.

Harry shook his head again. ''In here.'' He pointed to his chest. ''I don't know why...doesn't feel right.''

Snape moved to his side with a tiny, barely concealed wince. ''I am working on it, Harry, you must believe me. You will not have to compete with this much longer. A cure is not far out of reach.''

Harry nodded silently, crossing his arms over his chest and grimacing in pain.

Snape studied him for a long moment, conflicting emotions fighting for dominance. Finally, he did the only thing he could think of.

''Come here, Potter.''

''What?''

Snape did not repeat himself. He was unable to. A force of pure need to be near the boy, for physical contact after such a long time of battling with his emotions, was almost overwhelming and equal to Harry's own need for comfort.

Discarding his heavy outer robe, Snape lowered himself to the edge of the bed. Watching Harry carefully, he pushed himself back until he was leaning against the headboard.

Harry needed no further instruction. He didn't pause to think as moved to the man's side, as close as he could get, tentatively folding himself under Snape's open arm. When Harry had settled, he felt a weight settle across his shoulders, drawing him closer.

Heart beating wildly, Harry lifted his head briefly to search Snape's face, one last time, for confirmation. The man looked tired, tense, resigned... and also somewhat bitter. Harry knew Snape probably saw his own actions as weakness but he wasn't about to complain. He'd been starved of comfort for too long.

With a weak flicker of a smile, Snape shook his head slightly, not in denial, but almost in disbelief of his own actions.

Harry looked at him somberly for a moment, before resting his head against Snape's chest with a shaky sigh, considering these simple comforts that he'd so far been deprived of. He did not want to think about the prophecy or Voldemort or his training. Not any of it. He would not think about Dumbledore now, or what he would say when he returned.

He breathed deeply and tried to ignore the rigidness of Snape's posture. For the first time in what felt like a lifetime, Harry truly relaxed. It was strange, he thought distantly... He'd always expected Snape to be cold, like a ghost, but he wasn't. He radiated heat -- all of the reassurance Harry so desperately needed.

Harry dismissed any further thoughts and concentrated on the steady rise and fall of Snape's chest. Yawning absently, he watched a little tension leave the man's shoulders with each breath, until with a deep, almost weary sigh of surrender, Snape relaxed his rigid hold, slowly sagging back bonelessly and finally giving into the inevitable.

Snape felt nothing but warmth where they should and had always been a cold, damp misery as he held the frail boy. Everything seemed to be falling into place... All of his odd, undesired instincts to care and protect the boy had led them here. For the first time, Snape was truly aware that Harry was Lily's son.

It was strange, Snape thought as he fought of a very undignified yawn of his own, leaning back to rest his head against the wooden headboard behind him, taking Harry with him. He did not feel strange and awkward as he may have expected, but comfortable and... oddly relaxing. Holding Harry felt ridiculously natural.

He had been expecting, and almost hoping that Harry would protest at his actions, as he leapt even further over the line, crashing down barriers between then, but he didn't. The boy appeared almost grateful for his offer of comfort.

Snape could hardly breathe as two small hands unconsciously weaved their way into his robes and clung to the fabric. The thought never even crossed his mind, as he felt his eyes slowly close in contentment, to push the intrusion away. The boy pressed his face into his robes and breathed deeply as if it were his lifeline, and Snape, for all he'd denied it, would not have it any other way.


	19. Poison

---

It was the cold that woke Harry. With a shudder, his eyelids flew open and instantly, without knowing how, he could tell that something was wrong. Each one of the many candles in the room had been extinguished, and the fire had shrunk into nothing more than a heap of glowing ashes, casting random shapes across the carpet.

These things in themselves were not exceptionally strange, or unusual, but the utter emptiness of the room and the chill that it emitted, implied to Harry that he'd been its only residence for some while, and that was not a comforting thought at all. Pulling the covers tight against his body, he scanned the room using the corners of his eyes.

He felt frozen to the bone, but despite the lack of warmth from the room, Harry felt as though this chill was born from deep inside of him, which was far more disconcerting.

His chest was tight and uncomfortable, and breathing was hard. However, this wasn't what troubled Harry most. He was much more concerned about being alone in such a dark room, full of weird, nameless shadows and pressing silence that reminded him far too realistically of his nightmares, and made it that much harder to forget them.

He wished strongly that he hadn't woken. He longed to fall asleep again quickly, and forget this feeling of ill ease that surrounded him, but as always, that was not to be the case.

Harry knew that his instincts were not as sharp, nor accurate, as they used to be, and therefore, he was reluctant to trust them. He forced himself to be calm and forced his eyes closed, tempting sleep. Nothing was wrong. He was merely being stupid. Snape was free to leave him whenever he wanted. He probably hadn't gone far... Just to the bathroom.

The minutes ticked by loudly. With each passing moment, Harry grew increasingly anxious.

Slowly, but surely, panic set in. His emotions were in tatters, and therefore, any single dominating emotion was given free reign. Harry could not stop his heightened awareness of everything and anything, and currently, that was Snape's absence.

Snape would never have left him without any means of warmth. The fire would still be lit if he'd only stepped out for a brief moment.

Was Snape angry with him for the way he'd acted last night? Did he now think he was nothing more than a pathetic child and had decided to punish him? Had he left for good? Harry shivered, refusing to believe it. He knew Snape cared more than that. Even if he didn't, he was far more responsible than to just... leave. He _was_ coming back. Harry fought against the irrationality of his fear. He wasn't going to be immature about this. He was perfectly capable of taking care of himself for a while.

But no matter how much Harry wished it, Snape did not return. Not for hours. He was completely alone.

Harry swallowed back his nerves as he pulled back the crumpled sheets. He cast his eyes round the room, before swinging out his legs. He instantly recoiled them with a gasp at the coldness that met his bare feet.

With a grimace, he placed them back onto the ground and waited to adjust to the temperature.

He had to look for Snape at least. He couldn't disregard the fact that some unwelcome force may be keeping Snape from him, besides a full bladder. He could be in trouble. Harry was surprised at how much this idea distressed him, but he blamed it on his weak emotional system. He wouldn't feel such intense concern for Snape otherwise, he was sure. He needed him to keep him safe...that was all.

It was only then that Harry noticed the parchment on his bedside table. With a deep, indrawn breath, he snatched it up and read the note.

_Mr. Potter,_

_I hope to return before you are required to read this, but if this is not the case, and you are in need of assistance in my absence, send your owl to Dumbledore. Do not attempt to do magic. Do not leave the confines of your room. _

_Professor Snape_

Harry let out a short, humourless laugh, mocking his own panic. Snape wasn't in trouble. He hadn't left without leaving him a note. He was safe.

However, his initial relief did not last long, leaving room for doubt and worry to creep in once more.

It sounded as though Snape wasn't even in the Manor... But where would he go? Grimauld Place? Why? Had something happened? Harry swallowed. With determination, he forced himself to relax and do nothing foolish. Snape would not want to be embarrased by him overreacting as always and creating a scene.

Trust Snape to leave him so ill informed, and not think that his very sick student would feel incredibly uneasy without his presence. Harry gave a moment to mutter his irritants at the man, but this tired him somewhat and he quickly stopped, focusing all his energy instead on wishing Snape back.

Harry began to feel very exposed without the security of his blanket, so pushed himself back between the sheets. He sighed in contentment as he warmed somewhat, burying himself deeper into the covers.

He quickly relented to the fact that, even though he knew somewhere at the back of his mind that he was quite safe, as Snape would not have left him otherwise, he was going to continue to panic anyway.

Snape couldn't be at headquarters tonight... Surely they'd relocate to the manor, so that Harry wouldn't be left unattended to. Maybe Snape had left in a hurry, and had no time to seek a replacement at his sick student's bedside.

But then again Harry had made it blatantly clear how he couldn't bear to be alone, for his thoughts were that much louder and dangerous when there was nothing to distract him from it.

It was cruel to leave him like this. Snape's comforting presence was the only thing that could settle him completely. Snape was aware of this and yet he'd gone anyway.

Harry could not consider returning to sleep, but feared it was becoming inevitable. He cast his mind back to the previous night in search of some comfort.

The memory was blurred slightly, but he could clearly remember being held to a firm chest and feeling protected -- Almost wanted. Had Snape changed his mind about how he wanted their relationship to be? Could they actually be friends? Harry cringed.

Guardian would be more appropriate title for the temporary role that Snape had taken on.

Harry didn't remember that hold leaving him... He must have fallen asleep. And then Snape must have left. Was it immediate or had he lingered first to ensure he was settled? Harry was turned cold by the image the former provoked. Was Snape angry and resentful now that Harry had expressed how much he needed him?

He knew he was slowly framing a very potentially inaccurate picture of Snape in his mind's eye, but he couldn't seem to help it. When Snape offered comfort, he took it without question, but this was not the day to day Snape that most knew, and he must careful to distinguish clearly between the two.

Harry believed, without a doubt, that his need for the man was much greater than Snape's wavering tolerance of him. He'd no desire to force his company on Snape. But at this stage in his development, an emotional bond was more important to Harry than anything. Snape's guidance was all that was keeping him grounded.

Harry gradually became aware of a quiet groaning, becoming steadily louder in the empty room, and realised suddenly, with a sickening jolt, that it was him. He forced his mouth shut. He wasn't a baby. He could deal with being alone for a bit. But what had Snape said?...He wasn't safe all the time Voldemort was alive. He wasn't safe now... not at all, so it was hard to convince himself otherwise. He wasn't being foolish, just reasonable. Anything could happen...

All the worst scenarios possible began concocting themselves in Harry's mind, and he made no effort to rationalise them.

He glanced out towards the window for means of a distraction, and realised for the first time that he was not entirely alone. Hedwig was sat on her perch, head stuffed under her wing, sleeping soundlessly. The window was clamped shut in order that if Harry needed her, she would be there.

Harry felt a rush of warmth towards Snape as he realised this. The man hadn't left without thought...Perhaps he wasn't mad at him. Regardless, Hedwig's presence brought a little respite and Harry clung desperately to it. He longed to stroke her, to have contact with something, anything alive and feeling, but she was sleeping and refused to wake when he called.

As he turned his head back, something else caught his eye. There was a potion on the other side of his bed that he hadn't noticed before. Harry hesitated before shifting up the bed, extending an arm and picking it up, eyeing it carefully. Snape had written beside this also, his handwriting turning into an untidy scawl by the end of it, as if, as Harry suspected, he had been in a hurry.

_I ask you do not consume this before my return, but if the need arises, I will not deny you the opportunity to ease your suffering as soon as is possible. It is my most promising creation yet. I am certain, as I can be, of its success. I will leave you the choice_

Harry was tempted beyond belief to take the potion, but he'd had too much experience with Snape's near accomplishments before, and would not risk suffering any negative side affects when there was no one here to assist him if it went wrong. He set the note back down carefully with a sigh.

Time passed in a blur... Harry had no idea when he'd woken first, but it was now entering the early hours of the morning. There was only one place Snape would be at this time... Only one reason he would have left without notice... But No. Harry would not let himself think that. He couldn't.

Harry pressed his palms into his eyes and concentrated on his breathing, urging the tension from his body. This overwhelming feeling was not unfamiliar to him, but he hadn't had this trouble controlling it before. He could always stiffle his nerves before they erupted in panic. Now there was nothing to calm him. _Where was Snape?_

Harry considered calling Dumbledore, but in doing so would require a remarkable amount of strength that he did not yet have. His only option would be to take the potion, and he wasn't sure he wanted to take that chance alone.

_Where was Snape?_ Harry repeated the question over and over in his mind. He didn't know if it was more worry for himself, or for his mentor that made him so tense. He was not used to feeling concern for Snape at all, so it was difficult to identify. He was too used to the man being around all the time, every second of the day; he couldn't cope alone anymore.

The sound of something smashing cut through the air like a whip, and Harry started.

Hairs erected on his arms and on the back of his neck. His heart pounded in panic. Someone was downstairs. Harry breath came out raggedly in white air in front of his face, as he strained his ears to detect further noises.

Harry waited, a small bead of sweat running down his temple as he panted, but there was no sound of footsteps on the stairs. Whenever Snape went away, even if it was only to make a brief visit into London, he'd check on Harry immediately on return, before he'd even removed his cloak. Whoever was downstairs, hadn't.

Harry was in no state to defend himself if someone had broken in... If there were Death Eaters in the house, come to pay Snape a visit, he was a dead man. There was nothing around for miles...No houses, no people, no one at all that he could easily contact.

There was a soft hoot from across the room, and Harry spun round to face a slowly waking Hedwig. Dumbledore. That was his option... Harry's shook his head. No, he wouldn't do that. Not even if there were Death Eaters, he wouldn't ask Dumbledore for help, not after everything. He'd hardly arrive in time to do anything anyway.

Harry swore silently at Snape. How could he do this to him? His heart was pounding almost painfully in his chest, as he reached out blindly towards his wand. He didn't have the power to use it, but to have it in his hand brought comfort nevertheless.

He strained his ears for further clues, but nothing reached him. He'd hardly hear anything significant all the way up here, no matter what was going on out there... Maybe he would be left in peace. Or perhaps he had imagined the noise. His mind could be playing tricks on him, it wouldn't surprise him at all. Or was this the manipulation Snape was talking about? Was Voldemort taking over his mind? Is this what it felt like?

A small whimper ripped its way up his throat and out of his mouth, echoing slightly in the room. What the hell was he supposed to do now? Hide? He couldn't even stand up...

Harry was more afraid than he could ever imagine it was possible to be, as he stared intently at the door handle, imagining it turning at any moment to reveal a group of Death Eaters.... Lucius Malfoy's face stuck out from the crowd, mocking and taunting him in his sickness.

Harry's hands grasped the sheets either side of him. He was more afraid than when he'd been alone in the Chamber of Secrets... More afraid than fighting a dragon... More afraid than anything because he was a hundred percent, completely defenceless and he felt like some ridiculous joke.

He was hanging aimlessly inside himself, vulnerable and scared out of his wits. He was reminded painfully of how young he was. He was only a kid, not to mention very sick ... He wasn't a champion. He wasn't a hero. He was pathetic.

Any attack now would mean that Snape had betrayed him, and that didn't bare thinking about

Another crash resounded, louder this time, causing Harry to jerk and fist his wand tighter so that his knuckles turned white.

He hadn't imagined it. This second smash only convinced him further that it wasn't Snape. Why would he be smashing things? Someone was out there. Harry was going to be sick, but he couldn't....surely the intruder would hear him.

''Snape,'' Harry whispered as his hand tightened around his wand, his eyes never leaving the door. ''Where the hell are you, you stupid bastard?''

But what if that _was_ Snape downstairs? What if he needed Harry's help? But what could he do in the condition he was in? The potion caught Harry's eye once more, and he lifted it into his lap. He didn't have to be so defenceless. What if this time one of the potions actually worked, and he was miraculously cured? Snape would want him to go out fighting.

Harry swallowed, took a deep breath and clutched at the numb ache in his chest. He couldn't go out without a fight. Harry Potter wouldn't be killed sitting, frail and pathetic in a pile of his own sick. He'd give them a challenge if nothing else. He could die with some pride, or at least standing up. They weren't going to find him in his bed.

Harry winced as the potion touched his lips, but it did not taste as awful as many of them had. In fact it was fairly pleasant, or would have been if he'd been in any mood to care about such a thing. He wiped his mouth as he finished the last of it, dropping the empty vial onto the bed beside him and waiting anxiously.

At first all he felt was disappointment, as nothing inside of him immediately changed. But then a tingle erupted at the base of his spine and worked its way up through his entire body, warming him to the core. All symptoms of the fever were dulled, one by one, to the point that they were but a feeble ache on his senses. His nose dried up, his throat was no longer burning and he no longer felt the desire to empty his stomach of all its non-existent food contents; it was heaven.

For the first time in a week, Harry felt free from the confines of sickness. He took in a breath, almost giddy as he realised that it caused him no pain at all. His chest was light and warm. He wasn't drowned in ice. He was cold, that had not diminished completely, but he guessed that was more to do with the room temperature than anything else.

All that remained, as a reminder of his illness, was a sharp headache, but Harry could hardly complain. He knew that this would take longer to cure, as just as his fever was over, his mental defences remained weak and vulnerable. The road to recovery had barely begun.

Harry rose to his feet, and grinned, despite the situation, as he didn't wobble at all. His legs were sturdy and promised strength. He rolled his neck to reduce the stiffness that had formed, as he'd been confined to bed for so long. It felt good to be on his feet again.

A crash, followed by hurried shuffling brought Harry tumbling back down from his short elation. He'd taken the potion for a reason, and now he must follow it through.

He hesitated before stretching out a leg and taking the first step, encouraged when it didn't collapse beneath him.

With a thought, he raised his hand hopefully. ''Lumos,'' he whispered, clutching his wand possessively.

Nothing happened. He hadn't used magic in a while, so he wasn't too surprised. He repeated the spell but was granted with only darkness. He sighed and tried again, but by the fourth struggled attempt, resulting in only a feeble spark, he was forced to continue on without light. He didn't have time to panic over his inability to do magic... The skill would return. It had to. What use was he otherwise?

He soon found himself facing the door. With a large amount of courage, he pulled it open and stared, wide-eyed into the darkness of the landing. Every nerve of his body was strained towards detecting movement.

He took a slow, hesitant step forward when he was sue the coast was clear. He looked first up the corridor and then down, but all was quiet. Even the portraits were sleeping, and those that weren't did not so much as spare a glance in his direction. They were calm and peacefully miserable as always, but then again they were not exactly in danger, nor would they care for his life.

Harry made his way cautiously to the staircase, wand held out in front of him uselessly. He fought hard to keep his laboured breathing quiet.

Another random crash and Harry spun round.

The floor creaked and groaned loudly as he moved with a wince. So much for subtlety. Any intruder would know he was here if he wasn't more careful, but they themselves were not exactly keeping quiet. Their last movements had told Harry that they were still downstairs, and obviously didn't care for being caught, or perhaps they didn't know that there was someone in the house. Whatever it was, this confidence they seemed to posess was no ressurance.

Catlike in his movements, Harry made his way slowly down the staircase. He grew paler as the distance between him and the second unknown person in the manor quickly closed.

He was almost there, at the point of confronting whoever, or whatever it was, and he couldn't even do magic. What was he expecting to achieve? Harry quickly took on the reality of the situation. It was hopeless really. He was a fool not to contact Dumbledore. His pride shouldn't stand in the way of his mortality. He should never have left his bed.

Soft, pale moonlight was filling out of the kitchen doorway. There was rummaging coming from within. Harry had no choice now, he couldn't possibly turn back after coming this far.

He pursed his lips together, grasping for the bravery that had kept him alive in every other situation he'd encountered, such as this. Courage had always come naturally to him, more so than to other people, but he was struggling to find it now when he needed it so desperately.

Harry thought hard as he trembled. What would Snape do in this situation? What would he suggest? or more likely force upon him? Harry closed his eyes and clenched his jaw against the tears that were silently streaming down his face. He hated being this emotional...this helpless. He hated occlumency, maybe more than Voldemort. It had done this to him. He didn't have strength for a duel or even a muggle fight, but he'd left himself no option now.

It would be too easy to go back and climb back into his bed, pull the covers over his head and pretend that nothing was happening. He had to do this and prove to himself that this illness wasn't beating him; he could still be useful.

Praying that the room was free from danger, and all those that wanted him dead, Harry pushed at the door with his wand, his arm shaking uncontrollably. The door creaked loudly as it swung open in slow motion.

Harry held his breath. He could feel his heart hammering somewhere in the base of his throat. His whole body was tense and poised in a defensive position. He knew, as instantly as a movement in the far corner of the room caught his eye, that no matter what happened, whoever it was, he would not do a thing. He was completely and utterly incapable. He was frozen. All the confidence and assertion that may have remained inside of him evaporated.

It was too dim to see much but shadows, but the form of a man was unmistakable. It was too large, and too broad to be a women. It's movements were hurried and erratic, as though it were in some kind of race. What did it want, surely not the cuttlery? A slither of light fell across the persons cloaked back, and Harry gasped.

The figure turned sharply towards him at the sound, causing Harry to step back and stumble. He was too blind, he couldn't see who it was. Just as he thought he could take the suspense no longer, a light was flicked on and a masked face swam into view.

A hand was raised and Harry made a strangled sound. The mask was torn from the man's face and Harry felt his knees buckle as all remaining strength left his body. He was caught before he hit the floor and pulled into a pair of arms.

''Dammit, Potter.'' Snape's voice was close to his ear as he pulled Harry to him. ''What are you doing out of bed, stupid boy?''

Harry sobbed uncontrollably as he clung to Snape's robes, relief and hysteria washing over him. All his previous worries dissolved as he'd recognised the familiar features of his mentor.

Snape threw his mask to the floor carelessly, keeping a firm hold on the boy as he'd easily collapse without support. Harry hadn't the energy left to think any further beyond his sheer relief.

Snape made no move to push him away as Harry hugged the man tightly, forcing himself into his personal space, needing desperately to reassure himself of his safety. Harry had wound himself up so much that he couldn't even spare the emotion to feel a fool for his impulsive actions.

Snape's steady heartbeat reassured him of his mortality, and it was this that gradually calmed him.

His fright and relief swiftly turned to anger and humiliation, as he realised all Snape had put him through and how badly he'd reacted.

''You bastard,'' Harry hissed angrily, his actions having the opposite effect to his words as he held on tighter, as if Snape was trying to get away. ''I told you not to leave me.''

All of that ridiculous panic for nothing. Snape was here, safe, and so was he. It took Harry a while to calm down. When he did, he realised that Snape was holding on to him just as tightly in return. This surprised him and he pulled back a little, wiping a hand roughly across his eyes so that he could see more clearly.

''Sorry,'' he muttered, sniffing and coughing. ''I can't believe...I'm such a...I didn't know... Sorry-''

''I am too used to your theatrics by now, Potter, to be much surprised by them,'' Snape drawled, dropping his arms from around Harry's frail form and allowing him to step back.

He looked completely serious, in his distaste and dissaproval, but Harry was not convinced that he meant it fully. Snape never did anything he didn't want to, or at least not without a good reason. He'd allowed Harry to embrace him twice now without complaint. He'd even initiated the first which, even if the man hadn't been extremely comfortable with it, had let Harry know a great deal.

Snape attempted a weak smile, but it came out as more of a grimace, and Harry realised, for the first time, that there was blood on his face.

Harry frowned in confusion, but before he could question Snape on it, he was distracted by the state of the rest of the room. It was a complete mess. Plates, cutlery, potions and books lay strewn everywhere, many smashed. Chairs were overturned and even the backdoor had been left wide open where it swung on its hinges, allowing gusts of cold air into the house. It looked like a bomb had hit the place. This is what he had heard being destroyed.

''Sir, wha...?'' But Harry trailed off as turned back and took in Snape's face properly. It was not noticeable at first sight, and he could easily see how he'd missed it in passing, but there was not just blood on Snape's face. He was incredibly pale, more so than usual, and the bags under his eyes had grown so large that they made him look haunted, and he was sweating profoundly.

Every few seconds he would wince and shift his footing, as if he were itching for something. His eyes, however, were trained on Harry, wrought with such a deep anxiety that, even though he didn't know why, Harry could feel it too.

He brought up a shaky hand and pushed back Harry's chin, searching his face. Harry frowned in confusion, but a smell now caught his attention, distracting him from what Snape was doing. His eyes travelled down Snape's body and came to rest at a point near his stomach.

Harry edged closer, dislodging Snape's hand. He could sense that Snape was silently recoiling but, impulsively, he moved sideways and peeled aside a bundle of cloth on the man's hip.

Snape grunted and made to move away, but Harry was quicker than him and kept his hand in place. A clot of blood and foul, white substance smattered the man's hip, protruding from two bite like marks impaled on his skin. Harry gasped but Snape was already pulling the cloak back into place, and pushing him back into a chair.

Slowly, Harry looked down at his own chest, which was now also smattered with blood where it had pressed against Snape, and grimaced.

''The potion...'' Snape ignored Harry's silent questioning. His voice had lost its earlier stability, and was now strained, as if he were holding from it some higher, more painful expression. ''I left-''

''I took it,'' Harry said hurriedly, disturbed at how weak Snape appeared to be. ''I'm fine.''

Snape nodded. His eyes lingered for a few more moments on Harry, as though determined to find stability and significant health before he moved on. When he seemed satisfied that he'd found in Harry's face whatever was he was looking for, he relaxed marginally only to jerk into a rigid position, a second later, with a strangled gasp.

''Sir, what happened to you?'' Harry demanded, attempting to stand up but was pushed down firmly with more force that Snape looked capable of.

Snape used no more words as he moved back towards a row of unhinged cupboards on the far side of the room, with a sudden renewed urgency. Harry watched as he resumed what he must have been doing before he entered the room, causing breakages and smashes in his search for something. His robes were ripped and torn, and he was walking with a significant limp.

Harry swallowed thickly. How could he have not noticed before? Snape was hurt. He'd been bitten....and by the looks of it poisoned. He could be dying perhaps and had taken time, precious, life threatening time, to comfort _him_. Harry was disgusted with himself, sick with guilt. Snape stumbled slightly as he moved along the rows. Harry stood up to help, to do anything, he couldn't watch this. Snape was growing weaker by the second.

''Sir, please...Let me help,'' he begged, moving forwards as the man continued his urgent searching. He didn't know what had happened to Snape, where he had been, but it hardly mattered at the moment. He just needed to help him, and fast.

Snape pushed potions aside and let them clutter to the floor as, his breathing became increasingly laboured. He was hardly aware of anything other than his desire for an antidote.

''Professor?'' Harry repeated loudly, but Snape seemed unable to hear him.

A chair was pushed aside as Snape tore countless, priceless potions from their shelves and cast them aside as if they were nothing but rubbish. This in itself was enough to alert Harry to the seriousness of the situation. Snape's potions were one of the very few things that he was intensely passionate for. Only a condition life threatening would cause him to dispose of them with such disregard.

All of a sudden, he gripped the counter with stark white knuckles and winced sharply against some pain that Harry couldn't possibly comprehend. Harry moved closer, but Snape seemed to find the energy, even then, to shrug away from his hand, disregarding his help. It was though he were nothing now but a irritation, an obstruction.

He slipped further down the counter even as Harry watched in horror, paralyzed with fear and confusion. He had no idea what to do or how to help him.

''Tell me how to help you!'' he insisted. This was no time for Snape's pride. He could not watch the man waste away like this. He pulled Snape round more forcefully, knowing that he would pay for this forwardness later, and looked him in the face. Snape's eyes were glazed with pain as the effects of the poison began to grow in strength. He looked right through Harry, and then away, but registered the offer of help and his desperation for it. He'd no choice but to trust Harry.

''I must find-'' He took a sharp intake of breathe and clamped a hand to his side. ''...an antidote, Mr. Potter.''

''An antidote?'' Harry repeated.

Snape's eyes gained some of their usual character as he shot Harry scathing look, but it was not quite powerful enough to hide his rising panic and increasing pain. ''Now is not the time for your denseness, Potter. You must find it. Serpe-''

He groaned loudly and the sound cut right through Harry, turning his insides cold. He never knew Snape could make a sound like that. He'd never seen the man, or indeed anyone, in so much pain.

''Serpe...?'' Harry urged him to finish his sentence. ''Serpe-_what_, Snape?''

''Serpentermine,'' Snape said more clearly, ''it must be found.''

Harry chanted this a few times under his breath, before making a decision. Ignoring the man's protests and feeble attempts at shoving him away, he half pushed, half dragged Snape across the kitchen to the table, registering only dimly that he was much heavier than he'd imagined him to be. A few moments later and Snape would have been nothing but a crumbled heap on the floor.

Snape was not a particularly big man, but he was slowly becoming a dead weight, and Harry almost collapsed under the strain. His muscles had not had much exercise over the past week. He was not prepared for this.

He shoved Snape as quickly as he could into a chair, where the man sat panting, clutching at his chest, a look so agonised on his face that Harry wondered how he was bearing it. He knew it was only this distraction that allowed him to be so forceful.

With one last glance at the desperate man, Harry sprinted back to the cupboards and began pulling open the sealed ones at random. As Snape's strangled gasps became louder, so did Harry's own beating heart until he thought he could hardly hear over the pounding of it.

''Harry...'' It was nothing more than a strangled whisper now. Snape was pleading with him. ''God, Harry...You must hurry...''

''I'm looking, I'm looking!'' Harry cried. He wouldn't turn back. He wouldn't watch Snape die. Not after everything. It couldn't happen so suddenly. He'd been almost fine a minute ago. When he thought he had searched everywhere, and was on the brink of failure, a lime green jar screamed out to him the one word he'd been chanting. The only word he wanted to hear: Serpentermine.

He grabbed the bottle with both hands and was at Snape's side again before he could register what he was doing and force some care onto himself. If he'd dropped it Snape wouldn't stand a chance. He didn't think as slammed it down on the table, and watched as Snape struggled to open it with shaking hands, and down it in a few large, awkward mouthfuls.

Silence ensued and Harry waited. Snape had gone very still. His eyes were shut as his face gradually returned to peace, as if he were sleeping. Slowly, it moulded into its usual sneer as he gained strength.

Harry searched the man's pale, almost deathly face, and could have laughed with release when a familiar drawl made its way up and out, curving those thin, chapped lips into a sneer. ''As incompetent as ever, Potter. Leave it to the last minute wont you?''

Harry had the overwhelming desire to hug the man as wave upon wave of relief crashed over him, more so than he could ever imagine feeling at once. He refrained, however. Snape would hardly have appreciated it. He was slumped over the table, hair stuck to his face and dry blood everywhere. His breathing gradually evened out, and he raised his head to look at Harry.

''You ok?'' Harry asked, strained, collapsing into a chair beside him.

''In what possible way do I appear to be in any condition resembling _ok_, Potter?'' Snape replied irritably. He was trying to push himself up into a more dignified position, but was obviously struggling with the pain. Harry immediately moved forwards to help but the man glared, distilling any such notions.

Well, Harry had got what he wanted. Snape was back in his sarcastic entirety.

Snape took a breath and moved a hand to his side, pulling back the fabric to reveal his wound. He touched it lightly with a long, blood stained finger and winced. He wiped the sticky white substance onto his robes with a look of extreme revulsion.

''Poison,'' he muttered distastefully, knowing without having to look, that Harry was watching his every movement, ''one of the more morbid variety.''

Harry leaned back in his chair and started to breath more easily again, his adrenaline levels dropping. Snape was slowly regaining strength, but seemed reluctant to speak, and Harry did not force it on him. He was not being sent away, but feared that he may soon be and was keen to keep himself here for a while at least. He knew it was unlikely that Snape would tell him what this had all been about, but that didn't mean he couldn't ask and anyhow, Snape would be expecting it.

But Harry found that even when Snape finally pulled himself up straight, and appeared almost recovered from the effects of the venom, he was too intimidated to speak. He'd not really been introduced to this darker side of Snape before, and dispite all the trust he had in the man, he'd admit that he was a little scared now. Not of Snape exactly, but of that whole darker world that he inhabited and all that it influenced in the man. No matter how much he relied on Snape.... how close he may have thought he'd got to him, Harry realised now that it was all an illusion. He didn't know half of who of Snape was.

Harry swallowed uncomfortably, running his eyes over Snape's sweaty, blood stained face. Did he even want to know? Would the man tell him if he asked?

''Sir... What happened? '' Harry asked quietly. ''Where have you been?''


	20. The Road To Recovery

---

''There is a clear blue potion towards the back of the far left cupboard,'' Snape said clearly, gazing steadily at Harry. ''Bring it to me.''

The confidence in the order was lessened somewhat by the constant shaking of his hands. Harry could not help but stare at them. The usually pale, eloquent hands of his professor were smeared with blood and poison. Many of his fingers stuck out at odd angles, surely broken, though the calmness of Snape's expression did not suggest any pain.

The consistent, uncontrollable twitching of his face was the only outward sign of his suffering. He seemed far less occupied with any potential pain now, than getting Harry to co-operate and ask as few questions as possible.

A moment later, the wrecked hands were pulled sharply under the table, deliberately hidden from sight.

Harry looked up quickly. He hadn't wanted to be caught staring, but he could not deny that the man was a sight. His hair was matted with blood and dirt, as was his face. His robes were severely torn, revealing patches of pale, scarred skin that stretched across his thin frame so tightly that Harry could clearly see where the bones pushed against it. Large purplish bruises were beginning to appear on his face and parts of his neck. He looked completely exhausted, both mentally and physically.

There was only one place he could have been, but Harry was reluctant to ask about it again now that Snape had pointedly diverted them from the subject.

Snape raised an eyebrow delicately, as though daring Harry to laugh or comment in any way on his weakness, and state of utter disarray.

Harry did want to laugh, though not at this. He wanted to laugh bitterly, and without humour, at the thought that Snape would actually think that he'd find something humorous in his pain. He'd known their understanding had been fragile, but Snape was treating it as if it meant nothing.

It was either that or he didn't understand how someone would treat you when they said, 'I don't hate you,' which, though a miserable thought, Harry wanted to believe more than the former.

''Or I could sit here as the pain slowly returns to its full force. The choice is yours, Potter. The venom may be neutralised, but my wound is open to infection and remains to be so all the time that you stand there with that blank look on your face.''

Harry swallowed and nodded numbly, refusing to feel stung by the pure coldness that had returned to Snape's voice.

With the extreme look of dislike that he was currently enduring, Harry wondered whether their conversation the previous night had meant anything to the man at all. It seemed nothing had changed between them.

If anything, Snape was being more distant than before. Harry, however, was determined not to let the man shut him out over this. Snape may not want to discuss it, but he wouldn't he pushed away so easily-

''Stop it, Potter,'' Snape demanded suddenly, with such force that Harry was started.

''Stop what?''

''Stop... thinking! If you refuse to carry out a simple task, I shall ask you to return to your room.''

''I was just-''

Snape hissed sharply, though from pain or aggression Harry couldn't tell. A moment later, the man had leant across the table as far as he was able in order to spit out a violent curse.

Harry winced as he recieved the full brunt of Snape's multiple pain, projected onto the only person available.

The last thing Snape wanted was to face Harry, and be forced to sort through his none too clear emotions when it involved the child, and consider every move and gesture, taking into account how it would be percieved and its consequences, as he usually did, when he was so pathetically weak and vulnerable.

Snape's scowl deepened as his headache returned with a sharp, unforgiving sting. He'd not expected Harry to wake in his absence, and therefore, was entirely unprepared for a confrontation.

The fact that Harry had saved his life was a fact he disregarded and failed even to acknowledge, as he concentrated on ignoring the dull, aching throb that orientated in his hip, slowly tearing a destructive path through his bloodstream.

''I'll get the potion,'' Harry assured him quietly, stepping backwards. He'd never seen Snape so insecure and defensive. It wasn't like the man usually cared about what Harry thought of him, but now Snape were acting as though every glance in his direction was judging, and for the first time, he was not indifferent to it.

Harry made an effort to smooth out his face, not wanting to deduct anything too soon from the brusqueness in Snape's manner, and give the impression that he was at all reluctant to help.

''Also, Potter,'' Snape called him back, trying and failing to hide a wince as part of his robes snagged on his bare, mutilated flesh. He appeared increasingly uncomfortable with struggling to retain his composure. ''If there are any additional pain relievers that have not been destroyed...''

He hated to admit that he needed such a thing, but Harry kept his face free of judgement, giving a quick nod of understanding.

''Left, Potter, _left_,'' Snape barked as Harry wandered in the wrong direction, ensuring that he sighed loudly in annoyance so that the boy would hear it, and be aware of his impatience. ''It was a simple task.''

Harry muttered a hasty apology as he turned the other way, his face flushing a dull red.

Shaking his head in exasperation, Snape wiped at the scabbing skin on his hip irritably. He could not quite ignore the jabs of guilt that blurred his vision and reduced his concentration, determined to convince him that he was behaving unjustifiably towards the boy. He could not help treating Harry so harshly. It is what he had always done, and no matter if he no longer wanted to be so mean to him, it would take a while to actually act on his new preferences and actually be more consistently pleasant.

It always took him a while to gather his bearings again once he'd returned from.... there, and he was always in this foul mood afterwards: dark, angry, bitter... And whether it was deliberate or not, it was partly Harry's fault he'd been through this yet again, which only made him more resentful.

It was unfair, he knew, but he could hardly help dishing out blame wherever he could.

Snape gasped sharply as the last of the excess venom was squeezed from the wound, using his twisted fingers. Never, in all his years as a death eater, had he endured pain quite as intensely focused and unique as this.

He swore loudly, ignoring the way Harry jumped slightly and winced where he shuffled on his hands and knees, searching among his smashed bottles. Another thing he would have to replace...

What the hell did it matter to him what Harry thought of him now, after seeing him this way? Snape swallowed uncomfortably, glancing at Harry with an almost fearful look in his eye as he concluded that, despite his preferences, it did matter. It mattered a lot. He did not consider himself a good person. He was tainted, and Harry, being so damn pure and full of good, was bound to see the difference between them for what it was, and judge him on it.

Snape's eyes were darker than normal and distant, as though he were replaying some horrible memory, when Harry returned with full arms a few minutes later.

He jerked when Harry cluttered the potions messily onto the table and immediately tensed, guarding his features so that the horror, and his present unrest, were not so evident.

He'd no desire for Harry to witness his suffering, but there was only so much of his pain, both mental and physical, that he could hide.

As long as the boy remained compliant and unsuspecting, he hoped that he may be able to cover this up and fabricate some excuse for his bloody state and abrupt departure. Harry would only be disturbed and burdened further with the truth.

Harry looked at him uncertainly, a question in his eyes. It was an honest query that Snape had every right to expect, yet pointedly ignored. He looked away as Harry sighed in a way that expressed more of a weariness than impatience, as if he had expected to be ignored.

He'd no real desire to snap at Harry tonight, as he was currently doing, but he was hardly in the mood to make an effort with the boy, as much as he should, taking in all that he's suffered recently.

The separation between them was more important than anything at a time like this, when he was so vulnerable. It would not take much for him to seek comfort from Harry now, and that would be inexcusable -- irreversible.

Harry's relief and that warm, reassuring feeling in his chest, as the boy forced himself into his arms on sight of him, was irrational. Snape could pretend, as Harry had clung to him, that the boy actually cared for his safety, and was not only concerned with his own wellbeing.

Harry wasn't to know that he'd needed that as much as he had. He never had anyone to come home to once it was all over... someone who cared. He would not relent to a fools hope that it would happen again.

Snape no intention of allowing Harry to wiggle his way into his heart anymore than he already had. What they had discussed the previous night had merely been an understanding, and an acknowledgement that they did not feel in such hatred of each other, as they once had.

He'd not further expose his vulnerability by telling Harry he was more welcome than he let on.

Snape pushed back his shoulders and breathed out deeply through his nose, forcing some sense of superiority onto himself. There had to be boundaries. He could not live without them.

Harry grew defensive as Snape stared at him, his expression growing stony and more like the Snape he had known not so long ago; the Snape that he had so hated.

Harry stepped forward determinedly. He would not have that, not anymore. He didn't know what their confessions, implying peace, had meant, but to him they were important and he intended for them to get along better than before, and that meant Snape being honest.

''Sir, you have to tell me what happened-''

Snape waved a hand, dismissing him with a brief look of irritation. His headache would not take much more provocation before it became a full blown migrane. A cure for which would be in one of those potions he had smashed so carelessly.

Harry narrowed his eyes. Snape may still be in pain but he'd just saved his life, and he was warrant of some gratification at least. It wasn't like the man to be so distant like this... Emotionally, yes, but, at the moment, Snape appeared to be on a different planet entirely -- one where he was very much alone. He looked unsettled and that, in turn, disconcerted Harry.

Harry pushed the untouched potions towards Snape, keeping his expression guarded. It was the closest thing Snape had seen to him closing his emotions.

Snape sighed gently as he forced himself to become active once more, and not merely submit to the extreme desire to sit here and simply sleep off the unpleasant after affects of torture.

He ignored the ache he felt at the hurt lurking in Harry's eyes, which could still make a clear appearence, despite all the other various pains littered around his broken body, but did not speak of it. Perhaps he would discuss this later... He would explain his coldness, but not now. He was in too much damn pain.

He thanked the boy quietly, who nodded, standing awkwardly at his elbow, obviously unsure about what was to happen now. He was probably confused, as much about his behaviour towards him as to the snake bite, and Snape couldn't blame him. He'd been very affectionate with Harry last night, ridiculously so, and now he was being the exact opposite. Even he could not argue with that.

Snape dropped his eyes from Harry's, and attempted to pull himself up from his chair. Harry knew better than to help, but when Snape staggered and was forced to clutch onto the table for support, he stepped forwards without hesitation.

''Touch me, Potter, and you shall be sorry,'' Snape hissed, a wave of terror ripping its way through his chest as he felt the remainder of his self control struggle under the weight of Harry's sympathy.

His rare desire for emotional support seriously unnerved him. Harry was so close and so willing to listen, and just...be there, as a friend would, that Snape found it uncharacteristically hard to reject his help, though he knew he must.

He clenched his jaw against a tide of flashbacks that assualted his vision as agony shot through his leg. Remaining sat for such a time had numbed and stiffined the initial pain inflicted to the bone, but he'd reawakened it with his abrupt, foolish attempt to stand.

The cold words caused Harry to recoil instantly, as though stung, though his anger quickly turned to empathy once again as Snape writhed in obvious agony.

Harry tightened his lips and looked away. If Snape wouldn't allow him to help, he wouldn't watch and stand here like some idle fool. How could it be alright for Snape to touch him when he needed reassurance, and admit that he needed help, but not the other way round? Was the man too proud to have him help him? Would he never lower his walls down far enough to let Harry all the way in?

Harry sighed in frustration, but the extra air that was taken into his lungs, as he breathed out, reminded him of the stench in the room. It was becoming almost overbearing.

Snape snorted, a look of self-disgust and revulsion on his face as he shifted uncomfortably in his damp, blood soaked robes. ''Do I stink, Potter?''

Harry looked to the floor, uncrinkling his nose immediately in shame.

A tense moment of silence passed until Harry forced himself to speak. He would not be afraid of this man. He had seen what he was capable of, good as well as bad.

''Sir...'' he begun hesitantly, not wanting to aggravate Snape further, but confused at his own lack of action to help himself. Snape met his eyes reluctantly and Harry could tell that really wished him to leave, and was on the verge of asking him to. He swallowed back his hurt and cleared his throat.

''Your wand. Couldn't you-''

''If I had access to my wand, Potter, do you honestly believe I would be sitting here in this state? Do not be so foolish,'' Snape snapped.

Harry frowned, confused. His mind had not been this clear in days, and it seemed foolish not to use the full benefits of being able to think efficiently, without pain, when he needed to. Snape was never without his wand, it didn't make sense.

''I could-'' Harry raised his own wand, but Snape's eyes were like ice as they snapped back to his face, cutting him off with a firm look of disapproval.

''I think not. I do not wish to be recovering from your faulty magic also.''

Snape ripped his eyes sharply from Harry's and turned his attention to his wound. ''No. Muggle methods must be adopted in these circumstances. I do not need you, Potter.''

Harry opened his mouth but smartly closed it again, his face crumpling in the hurt that he could hardly hide. Perhaps it wasn't just Snape's bad mood that was reverting him back to such coldness. Perhaps he really meant it.

Harry wandered over open back door, a coldness creeping inside of him. He almost felt, in that moment, regret for agreeing to Snape's apology last night. If he didn't know better, he would say that he dreamt the entire conversation, as Snape was obviously not planning to treat him any differently. Though what had he expected? Had he thought Snape would suddenly, heaven forbid, be _nice_ to him after all that had transpired between them?

Harry shot Snape a curious glance from the corner of his eye, confused and irritated by his abrupt changes of behaviour. The man was hot and cold. He'd just saved his life for crying out loud, he was ill, and he was _trying._ Snape had never been any different, and Harry had always expected it, but now he knew the other much more pleasant side he was capable of, he was far less accepting of his highly unfair attitude now.

Harry opened the door as wide as it would go, the cold air fresh on his face. The room smelt of blood so much it was making him nauseous.

Minutes passed into half an hour, the air stale between them.

Finally, Snape cleared his throat. With a gruff voice, he beckoned Harry towards him.

Harry turned to eye him warily.

''Come here,'' Snape repeated quietly.

Harry took a deep breath and obeyed, wondering dully whether he was to be berated again.

''Sit down,'' Snape commanded and Harry did so without complaint. The sheer blackness that had filled his eyes with pain had faded, so that his gaze was lighter on Harry's face.

The boy seemed to have resigned himself to something, and if it was Snape's being an utter bastard for no reason, the man would have to change that. He _had_ meant what he'd said. He did want a positive relationship with the boy. He'd no desire to shout at him... He really didn't, he just wanted peace and Harry was currently preventing that.

Snape needed to make things right between them to ensure that this would not have a significantly detrimental effect on the growing sense of peace that was settling between them. It meant a lot to him and he had to convey as much.

Harry had to understand that he did not make false declarations and, though he was acting badly, and in contradiction to his earlier words now, he did not always intend to. This wasn't how he'd wanted their new understanding to start out. He hadn't planned on this happening. He hadn't even had time to think properly over the implications of what he had decided, with regard to their relationship.

''I...I apologise,'' he said quietly, unsure how to go about excusing himself and ensuring that the boy was not going to revert to his former behaviour, when he'd first arrived, and cause havoc. He did not want Harry to be angry with him. ''Your magic is not faulty, nor is it inaccurate-''

''Yes, it is,'' Harry muttered, ignoring the hope that flared in his chest at Snape's apology and acceptance of his rudeness.

''Excuse me?''

''My magic...'' Harry looked up with a bitter expression. ''I can't do it. When I was trying to find you... Lumos wouldn't work.''

Snape raised an eyebrow, curious. ''May I?''

Harry passed him his wand, and Snape spun it delicately through his deformed fingers.

Harry watched Snape's face curiously as the man frowned, deep thought lines crossing his forehead as he considered the possibilities.

With a sudden jab of the wand, Snape's fingers crunched loudly.

Harry winced, jumping back from his chair in alarm and scrunching his eyes in unconcealable disgust.

Snape's face paled considerably and his lips formed a tight, hard line as he hissed through the pain. A few shuddering breaths later, he handed Harry back his wand, deeming it fully functional.

''You could have warned me you were going to do that,'' Harry shuddered, taking his wand back possessively, and hiding it inside his pocket.

''And ruin our amusement?'' Snape drawled, without humour. He flexed his fingers tentatively a few times, before returning his attention to Harry. He wanted to get this matter sorted quickly, so that he could take the rest of the potions privately. He desperately needed a shower and solace to reflect.

''The potion worked then, Mr. Potter, is that correct?'' he asked formally, casting his eyes up and down Harry's frame critically. ''The one I left.''

Harry nodded. ''Yes, sir. Except I can't do mag-''

''That is not what I asked,'' Snape cut him off. ''The fever is absent?''

''Yes.''

Snape's eyes narrowed suspiciously. ''But?''

''But... nothing.''

Snape raised an eyebrow and Harry sighed. He didn't want to be ungrateful, but the potion hadn't cured everything.

''My head.'' He pressed two fingers to his temple delicately.

''A headache?''

Harry nodded.

''Hmm…'' Snape looked at Harry closely for a moment before beckoning him closer.

''Is that why I can't do magic?'' Harry asked uncertainly as he sat back down, his knees almost touching Snape's as the man leaned forwards, one hand still clamped to his side.

Ignoring the question, Snape requested that Harry look at him.

''Do you have to?'' Harry turned away, knowing only too well what the man intended to do. ''I only just got better…''

''You are far from cured, Mr. Potter,'' Snape assured him, ''your mind is still dangerously unstable and your emotions are a mess.''

He lifted his chin to initiate eye contact, and Harry made a small groaning sound in protest. ''Please, don't...''

Snape shook his head, his mouth tightening in frustration.

''You must allow me to determine whether the potion has affected your magic. There is no other way but this. Pass me your wand. I shall make it as painless as possible, though not if you continue to avoid-''

''Ok, ok,'' Harry sighed, reluctantly handing it over, ''go on then.''

''If I am correct in my assumptions, you shall not feel a thing,'' Snape said, with unexpected softness, as Harry's hesitant green eyes caught his black, instinctively searching for comfort.

Snape was torn back in memory of the previous night where he'd relented to comforting the boy. Things were indeed getting out of hand if he were willing to offer such sentimental drivel simply in order to ensure the boy's peace of mind.

Brushing aside his impeding fears, Snape slipped into his student's mind with familiar ease.

Harry winced but it did not hurt as much as he'd expected. Snape was true to his word, and very gentle.

All in a matter of seconds, Snape had felt Harry's intense fear at being left alone, his weakness and sense of hopeless as he descended the staircase, and his relief on finding him, Snape, alive. He knew that he was becoming more familiar to Harry, but he'd no idea the boy held such worth to his life. It had been a while since anyone aside from Dumbledore had cared whether he was alive or dead.

It was a most strange feeling to know that Harry was frightened just as much for _his_ safety, and not just his own.

Snape broke the connection swiftly and cleared his throat. ''No improvement,'' he stated simply. ''Not to your mental defences, though your magic shall return in time and, of course, with practice.''

He held out the wand back, but Harry hesitated before taking it.

''Why don't you just keep it for now, professor?'' he suggested. ''You know... as I can't use it.''

Snape's eyebrows rose in unison, as he stared at Harry with a mix of incredulity and disapproval.

''You'd offer me your wand?''

''Just to borrow. To get your...'' Harry motioned towards Snape's bloody side with a grimace, ''...snake bite healed.'' It seemed like a decent thing to do. Why shouldn't he offer Snape his wand? It was very precious to him but he wouldn't mind Snape using it for a while.

Snape raised an eyebrow in interest, disregarding, for a moment, his perplexity that Harry had offered him such a thing.

''A snake bite was it, Potter?''

Harry frowned. He hadn't given it much thought, but assumed it was. ''What else has venom and two sharp teeth?''

Snape smirked slightly at this. ''A great many creatures, but you are correct. It was indeed a snake bite.''

Harry swallowed, shivering slightly. ''Was it... Was it Nagini, sir?''

Snape looked across at him sharply. ''What?''

''Voldemort's snake,'' Harry stammered, ''the big one. I've seen it before.''

Snape snorted softly, shaking his head. ''Of course you have, Potter. I forget sometimes how much it is that you have witnessed.''

''Alright for you...'' Harry muttered, not liking Snape very much at the moment. He was in a dark mood... one that he couldn't quite understand, and though the man was obviously now trying to be more pleasant, there were shadows in his eyes that clearly told Harry he was still very much in whatever horror he'd been forced to endure to get these new scars.

Snape looked at Harry closely, his eyes softening slightly as he realised the effect this comment would have on the boy.

''I know. Forgive me. I do not always say what is most appropriate.''

Harry snapped his head back up in surprise. ''You keep doing that,'' he stated, a small, reluctant smile weaving its way onto his face.

''Doing what?'' Snape asked absently. He had already returned his attention to his bite and was applying the potion.

''Apologising,'' Harry said, though he wondered just how much Snape was sincere. ''You've said it twice. I bet that's more than you've said in a lifetime.''

Snape glanced at Harry through a curtain of hair, smiling briefly in response to the simple delight on the boy, gained from such a small observation. No matter his efforts to keep Harry at a respectable distance, he did not seem able to help drawing him ever closer with his continuous, ridiculous heartfelt outbursts.

''I suppose I have,'' he said as indifferently as he could. ''I confess I feel a need to increasingly in your presence.'' It was true. Harry was the most pure, innocent person he'd ever met. It was disgusting really and just a little appealing. Harry made him feel blacker in all his righteousness and, therefore, the need to apologise. His growing affection for the boy was not helping either.

Snape frowned. This was enough for one night. He didn't trust himself not to say anything foolish. He'd dug himself into a big enough hole already.

''To bed now, Potter. I think you have had quite enough excitement for one evening.''

''What?'' Harry cried, content to be with Snape now that he was being a little less hostile. ''No way. You haven't even told me where you've been!''

''And you assumed that I would?''

Harry hesitated but nodded confidently. ''Eventually.''

Snape snorted. He handed Harry back his wand and uncorked one of the potions that he'd brought over earlier.

''Keep your wand, Potter. You must practice in order for your skill to return.''

Harry nodded, pocketing it and continuing to watch as Snape patched himself up. The man made to summon some bandages, but without his wand, his attempt was futile.

''Where?'' Harry asked simply, and with a resigned sigh, Snape pointed.

Harry followed Snape's instructions and found a small, muggle first aid box under the sink. He unwound the fabric as he walked back across to Snape, knowing that the man would find it hard with his blood stained fingers.

With a great deal of courage, he dropped the package into Snape's lap and crossed back over to the sink. If he couldn't do magic, and Snape was unwilling to take his wand, they would need to be practical.

''What are you doing, Potter?'' Snape asked suspiciously as Harry ran the tap.

Harry filled a bowl, grabbed a towel and carried it back over to the wounded man. Harry decided he'd been selfish enough for one night. Now he would do something for Snape.

When Snape realised what Harry was attempting, he gave another snort, hiding his incredulity behind a condescending smirk of amusement.

''Going to take care of me, Potter?''

Harry glowered, defensive. ''Why shouldn't I? I feel much better and you've done nothing but care for me for the last week.''

He'd seen enough pain. He wanted to help. He'd every right. There was no one else here to help the man, and he was more than capable of handing him a few bandages.

If Snape wouldn't even let him in that far, and loosen up his own self-restraint a small amount, then Harry didn't know quite how to go about retaining his tentative, positive relationship with the man in future.

There was a strange look in Snape's eyes as he regarded Harry, a small tilt to his lips. He looked almost wistful, albeit amused and doubtful, as if the idea of someone willing to care for him was one he had not heard before, though did not wholly object to. But he was a deeply cynical man and this quicky settled any argument.

A moment later, his mask was back in place as he motioned Harry to place the bowl on the table before he dropped it.

''I do not need your pity, Potter. My care for you was unavoidable, and does not need to be repaid.''

He could not stand the boy to touch him now and accept his help. It would be unthinkable for him to accept such a clear, demonstrative act of kindness, as it would solidify any sort of friendship between them that he was so wary of. He hated being this defenceless. Adding Harry's clumsy attempt at showing care for him would only end in disaster.

Harry's own incapacitation had proved only too well how closely two people could be drawn in such a situation, when one was forced to care for the other.

Vulnerability was always something Snape had avoided like the plague around Harry. He'd had far too many upsets with his father to feel comfortable without a form of defense which he could hide behind. He didn't want Harry to become too accustomed with the softer side of him; the side that would hold a small, shaking boy as he clung to him and wept.

Snape shut his eyes sharply and fought against all that nature was imploring him to accept. No, he would not seek comfort from Harry now. He would deny it, though he knew the boy would give his friendship willingly.

He wouldn't allow Harry to think that contact with him would be a common occurrence. He'd already convinced himself he would not play that sort of role in Harry's life, but it still seemed the boy needed showing once and for all, hence his unrelenting hostility. Snape couldn't help it. It was his own innate defence system; if anything gets too close, push it away. Harry was already pushing the boundaries of his comfort zone.

He held up hand as Harry made to protest. ''As gallant as your offer may be, I must decline. Go back to bed,'' he said shortly, not looking Harry in the eye.

Harry sighed. ''You're so stupid, you know that?'' he sighed in frustration. ''Are you so immune to _actual_ feelings that you can't even understand that someone might _want_ to care for you, not to repay some debt, but because they don't like seeing you in pain. I don't have any vested interest! I just don't like...'' Harry's eyes strayed towards Snape's naked hip and he cringed. ''That,'' he said. ''I don't want you to be hurt.''

Snape was eyeing him shrewdly with a touch of annoyance. He would not admit that he was touched very deeply by Harry's offer, as foolishly Gryffindor as it may be, but sympathy was something he was not used to. He could associate it only with pity, and failed to comprehend the innocence of Harry's words.

''Please, sir,'' Harry added as Snape made to speak.

His desperation did not come from any real desire to care for the man. He knew Snape was capable of making sure that he healed perfectly, but he wanted to contine from the understanding they'd reached last night, and build on it. A friendship with Snape was no longer something that seemed impossible. Now would be an oppertunity for Harry to inch further under Snape's armour and fit himself permanently behind his walls in a space where he could communicate with the man properly. Harry barely paused to consider why he would want this so much.

''Don't send me away because you think I-''

''What I _think_, Potter, is not up for discussion,'' he hissed and watched, unsympathetically, as Harry flinched. ''Not by any means. I am perfectly capable of healing a simple wound.''

''I'll just go to bed then,'' Harry murmured, clearly disappointed.

It appeared Snape still couldn't trust him enough to make things any more personal between them, which was something Harry thought Snape had wanted just last night. Harry couldn't keep up. One minute Snape was looking in his eyes, in a way no one had before, and appearing for the better part, to see him for who he truly was.

There was no venom in his eyes then, but he could turn prickly just as quickly, and it was in his defensiveness that Harry didn't understand his true intentions, and what it was the man really wanted.

Snape ignored him, struggling to uncork another potion with his newly healed fingers. Harry automatically made to help but Snape shifted out of his reach with a glare.

''Bed, Potter.''

''But-''

''No. You will not use my instability to bend my will, Potter. For once you shall heed my instruction and leave me be!''

The potion spun out of Snape's grip as his voice rose to a shout, and rolled across the floor. Harry stopped it with his foot but crossed his arms over his chest when Snape looked at him expectantly. He wasn't going to pick it up. Snape didn't need his help...

Snape sighed deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose. He suddenly became very weary, and Harry immediately felt slightly guilty for being so demanding. But Snape was not playing fair either. If he wouldn't accept his help, then he'd settle for explanation of his whereabouts this evening.

Snape did not open his eyes as he said, ''I pray for the day, Potter, that you will take _no_ as what it means. A negative answer for-''

''I won't when you don't give me a good reason to,'' Harry argued. ''You can't just turn up, covered in blood and..._dying,_ and not expect me to want to know what happened.''

''Are we back to _wants_ again, Potter?'' Snape sighed tiredly. ''I thought we discussed, to great length, that want and getting are two very different-''

''Can't you remember the deal we made?'' Harry pushed against Snape's indifferent expression, trying desperately to get through to the man that had been so open with him last night. He knew he was still in there and that, as always, Snape was trying to hide what he was really feeling. He wouldn't let him brush him off when there was a matter like this concerned; one that was far more important than their own petty quarrels.

''You can tell me things I don't _need_ to know. If something has happened with... You can tell me where you've been, even if professor Dumbledore wouldn't agree. We made a deal-''

''I do not recall-''

''No. Don't you dare play that card with me, Snape.'' He held up a finger, his face growing hot as his own impatience and anger was drawn to the surface. ''You know that I-''

''You certainly are feeling better, Potter. Lower your finger at once.''

Harry snapped his hand down, and had the grace to look sheepish as Snape bore holes into him with his eyes.

''Encase you had forgotten, Potter, I am head of Slytherin house. Virtues such as honesty are hardly my priority. In any case, you are assuming that I _want_ you to know where I have been. I assure you that I do not.''

''But I have a _right_ to know. You can't just expect me to forget about this!'' Harry bit back, impatient now. He hadn't just gone through all that drama for Snape to dismiss the whole thing as if nothing had happened. Maybe once upon a time, but not anymore. He was fully prepared to risk his new acceptance with the man by pushing the issue. It wasn't as though Snape seemed set on changing his behaviour towards him significantly anyway.

''You are not_ just_ Head of Slytherin House,'' he added stubbornly. ''You are a person and you know just as well as anyone between right and wrong.''

Harry realised, very quickly, that he may have been taking advantage of fact that he wasn't too ill to properly argue his point far too much. However refreshing it was to be able to speak clearly again for a significant amount of time, and raise his voice all he liked, Snape would not appreciate such developments in quite the same way, he was sure.

Snape let out a small dark chuckle at this, and Harry was momentarily taken off balance. He could tell Snape found this more sinister than amusing, but the sound was not one he'd heard before, and he noted it carefully. Everything about this just man seemed to intrigue while simultaneously disturb him more and more.

He'd have preferred Snape to shout at him... Now he had no idea what he was thinking...or remembering.

''I can assure you, that has been done quite sufficiently already,'' he said in a low voice.

Harry swallowed. He knew that... but he had to know. ''Please...''

He didn't want Snape to feel guiltless when breaking a promise to him. If he could, then he wasn't the man he thought he was.

Snape closed his eyes for the briefest of moments, and when he opened them again, they seemed a little lighter and less hostile than before. Harry breathed out.

''It seems I have little choice if I am to have any peace.''

Snape surprised himself with how easily he had given in. Not denying Harry what was his right, wasn't as easy as it had once been.

He stretched back in his chair and breathed out, allowing himself to relax a little for the first time since he'd returned. Usually, by now, he'd be reaching into his liquor cabinet to forget his last encounter with...him.

He shuddered, but instead of being mercilessly absorbed into a hole of self pity, Harry's eyes beckoned to him, curious and demanding his attention. He could not very well ignore him. He supposed he should thank the boy. It wasn't normal that he should settle so quickly after returning from somewhere so dark.

He much preferred to remain bitter, angry, and restless for hours, but Harry's forceful presence had encouraged him into a greater maturity. He could not lose sight of himself in front Harry. He was all that was keeping him grounded.

''Do you honestly not know where I was, Potter?'' he said finally. Harry was obviously not going to let this rest. He should have known better than to disregard the matter so quickly.

''Tell me,'' Harry said. He wasn't going to say it out loud, he needed Snape to.

They held eachother's gaze for a long while before Snape abruptly dropped his eyes.

''I shall be upstairs shortly,'' he said plainly. ''I must drink the rest of this potion for the antidote to take complete effect.''

''Isn't there a spell?'' Harry asked dully, disappointed that Snape was choosing to delay explanations further again.

''I do not know the incantation. There are few that do.''

''Does the potion work just the same then?'' Harry asked, feigning interest and playing for time in his reluctance to leave.

''It is a little more...uncomfortable,'' Snape told him, giving him a curious look that asked why he wanted to know such a thing, ''but the overall effect is the same. I thought I asked you to go upstairs.''

''Sir...''

''Just hand me your wand for a moment, Harry,'' Snape held out his hand, losing his patience.

''I thought you didn't-'' Harry begun, confused that Snape kept requesting the use of a wand but was reluctant to accept it anymore permanently. It just proved how dependent on magic wizards were. Harry wondered again, with a new measure of dread, about what had happened to Snape's wand.

''There is something I had forgotten,'' Snape said with slightly more urgency, curling his finger. ''Your wand, Harry. Now.''

Harry didn't hesitate any longer in dropping his beloved wand into Snape's palm, without further question. There was a small bead of sweat that had formed on Snape's right temple, and his face had regained that strained look.

Snape muttered something and silencing spells were placed around the room.

Harry frowned in confusion.

''As I said,'' Snape handed it back to him, a shudder running through his body as it sought more urgently the soothing effects of the final potion. ''It is not comfortable.''

Harry swallowed, his own blood running cold as realisation dawned. He'd no doubt it would be uncomfortable if Snape saw the need for silencing charms. He silently cursed whoever had done this to his mentor. He didn't care who it was, he hated them for putting that fear into Snape's eyes.

''I will tell you where it is I have been, Harry, if you leave me.'' Harry could see the pain slipping back into Snape's face as the temporary numbness caused by the antidote began to wear off. ''Go, I must consume the potion.''

''I could stay...''

Harry gave Snape a last glance, and the man almost looked like he was about to say yes. However, Harry knew even before Snape denied him again that he wound never do so. Snape didn't want to be dependant or draw strength from anyone, least of all Harry.

Harry edged from the room, feeling horrible. He snapped the door shut behind him, drowning out the first cry of pain that Snape had not managed to withhold.


	21. Patience

---

Harry paced from one end of his room to the other with long, forceful strides, swallowing down the bile that constricted his throat as he replayed images of Snape's gaunt, blood-stained face through his mind.

He continously squeezed his eyes shut, in irritation, but it was as though the gruesome picture it had been permanently imprinted on the back of his eyelids, and it refused to budge.

Harry had never seen Snape in such a state, but then he'd never witnessed him return from Voldemort's inner circle, as he fulfilled his role as a spy, before either. Harry was sure that was where the man had been. Nowhere else would have left him with such morbid souvenirs. He hoped sorely that this wasn't the norm. It chilled Harry to the bone to think that Snape came this close to death on a regular occurrence.

It had been almost two hours since Snape had sent him upstairs, and Harry was beginning to wonder whether the man would actually keep his word by coming up to explain what had happened. Snape, after all, was not known to keep his promises, and his tardiness would suggest deliberate avoidance.

Harry shivered in the musty air and pulled on another jumper over his current three layers. The room still had a large amount of dust that had remained solidly, coating all appliances with a thick coating of grime. The desolate, abandoned air still lingered, even after the room had been inhabited for a number of weeks.

Harry only wished he'd cleaned it up with magic, and perhaps decorated it a little differently, when he'd had the chance. He'd have liked to add a few more homey touches now that he was becoming more settled, and had no immediate plans to leave. As the fire had long been extinguished, and his wand was useless and there was no wood, Harry resigned himself to bearing the cold.

The clock ticked loudly as a constant reminder to Snape's absence, only adding to Harry's vastly growing impatience as he waited to satisfy his bursting thirst for knowledge, and desire to know that the antidote had worked properly.

His legs were beginning to ache but he ignored them, needing constant movement in order to keep himself both warm and occupied.

Eventually, Harry was forced to end his pacing before his limbs collapsed in an exhausted heap beneath him. With a final sigh, he sat, crossing his legs at the ankles, with his arms folded across his chest, and stared blankly at the door.

Harry knew Snape would need to sort himself out, both physically and mentally, before confronting him, but that did not ease his restlessness, even if it did convince him, against his instincts, to behave rashly. Snape would never forgive him if he damaged them both further by trying, in some foolish way, to interfere and speed up the recovery process.

If Snape had taught him one thing, it was patience. Patience in the classroom, patience at the dinner table and in every aspect of life at Snape Manor. Harry's ability to accept that he needed to be exceptionally patient with Snape's own impatience, if they were to make progress and refrain from heated argument, was a lesson well learnt.

Harry dropped his hopeful gaze from the door, sighing deeply and putting his patience into practice, as he curled onto his side, the last of the fearful tremors that had taken hold as he'd first woken, drifting away.

Harry's own innate form of self-protection was of the clear opinion that Snape could be a positive influence in his life, but knew he would have to fight for it. Harry was told he was brave, but he was also cautious enough to know that, although having Snape on his side would be vital and exceedingly beneficial in the short-term, a friendship with the man was going to be a challenge, and was not something to be accepted lightly.

Harry's changing relationship with Snape was certainly living proof that nothing was impossible. Only someone like Harry would be optimistic and courageous enough to pursue it.

Just as Harry was beginning to think Snape really had changed his mind, and was contemplating sleep, no matter how vivid the nightmares would be when he was so unsettled, a deliberate clearing of the throat caught his attention.

Harry shifted into a sitting position, tentatively offering his weak mentor an empathetic glance.

Stood leaning heavily against the doorframe, Snape raised an eyebrow in response. Predictably, he brushed aside Harry's innocent compassion. With a barely audible groan, he pushed himself painfully from the door and moved swiftly inside the room with a stiff nod of greeting.

Harry tensed visibly. His every nerve automatically focused on Snape's black clad form. Witnessing the man at his weakest, suffering the worst pain possible, was bound to alter his perception.

Though all the typical Snape features were in place, to Harry, the man somehow seemed much smaller and less intimidating than he ever had before, as he stumbled towards him, managing to emit fluidity and grace, despite his wounds.

Snape was a mortal man. Nothing more, nothing less.

''Er... How are you... feeling now, professor?'' Harry asked hesitantly. ''Did the potion-''

''It was sufficient,'' Snape responded carelessly, casting his eyes about the room and avoiding Harry's eyes in particular. ''And your own antidote? No... side effects?''

''No, sir,'' Harry shook his head. ''It was sufficient.''

Snape shot him a calculating glance but tightened his lips against any further response. With much reluctance, he limped further into the room until he reached the corner of Harry's bed. Silence soon descended upon them, as they became consumed by awkwardness.

Eventually, Snape shifted his footing, with a soft grunt of discomfort, and stared directly at Harry.

Harry swallowed, acknowledging to himself that, though Snape was no longer a creature to be associated more with vampires than humans, he was still the most daunting person he'd ever met. There was no tolerance in the dark eyes that searched his, waiting tensely for inevitable comment on his dire appearance, or else a tide of difficult questions.

Snape never had been a big man, but that made him no less intimidating. He'd always worked hard to give the strong impression of both height and superiority.

The man Harry saw now, however, was like a stranger that had been collecting themselves under his careful watch. This was no longer the man that Harry had been in such fearful awe of for so many years. This was a Snape who he'd now seen vulnerable and susceptible to harm, just like every other human being.

He was more of a man, and a person in his own right, in that moment, to Harry, than he had ever been before. No longer such an alien, immortal threat, the possibilities of what Snape offered as a person were frighteningly endless.

Harry dropped his eyes submissively, and he willed his voice box into a place temporarily beyond reach. He would prove Snape wrong, once again, by his inability to find humour, or reason for sarcastic comment, in another person's suffering. If he refused enough times, and continued to prove that he was not that sort of person, the message may eventually be accepted.

A brief, partially concealed look of relief passed across Snape's pale face as Harry remained tight-lipped and undemanding. The boy's ever growing maturity and sense of self-awareness were constantly a surprise to him. He would have thought it impossible for so much consideration to be displayed on a face so alike to that of James Potter.

Harry smiled to himself, satisfied, as he bravely regained eye contact, reading Snape's carefully muted expressions in a way that he'd only been taught with an extensive amount of time in the man's company. A small flutter of appreciation filtered across the stern features, mixed also with pride in the boy for being respectful in a situation that could, potentially, be used in a way to cause him greater harm than was necessary.

He would have deserved a mocking or at least indifference from Harry, but Snape knew by know, deep down if not yet on the surface, that Harry was not that kind of person at all. The worried and deeply unhappy expression that dominated Harry's features, as he avoided looking at any particular wound too closely, as though he hated to see it, was so genuine that Snape could not doubt his sincerity, despite his natural cynicism.

The small, disconcerting bubble that expanded in his chest, as he was forced to accept that Harry actually cared about his well being, was not something he could effectively ignore either.

However, habit ruled that he must at least make an attempt and he did so stubbornly. Regardless, he needed his wits about him if he were to have such a serious discussion with Harry, and any such feelings could be analysed rationally, as Snape was determined to do, at another time. Now, he had an equally burdensome task to complete.

Harry used the heavy silence to move his eyes swiftly and covertly over the man's thin frame, and assess his remaining damage, not allowing himself to focus on any part of him too closely as it filled him with a strange, unrestrained rage towards those who had caused it.

To his immense relief, aside the distinct paleness and overall weariness, Snape did not appear too outwardly effected in any long-term way by the ordeal he had suffered. Harry had known the man was fully capable of healing himself, but was surprised by what a good job he appeared to have done, and without magic.

His face was clean, disfigured only by a small number of deep cuts and ugly bruises, many of which had coloured considerably, since the last time Harry had seen them, to reveal the true force with which they'd been delivered. Snape was also free from any extensive signs of blood and poison. His hip was hidden by his long cloak and he no longer smelt too awful.

His initial concerns satisfied, Harry stifled a yawn as Snape loitered at the foot of his bed, apparently indecisive. He was annoyed with himself for being so exhausted when there was finally potential to find out something more about Voldemort.

He blinked heavily against the sleepiness in his eyes and unconsciously untangled his t-shirt, where it had scrunched up around his stomach, to smarten himself up. Snape had that effect on people. The fact that he himself looked like absolute hell was neither here nor there.

Snape frowned slightly as the onslaught of impatient questions and demands failed to make an immediate appearance. Harry was obviously keen for information, therefore, his hesitation was unexpected.

Harry peered up at his mentor through his untidy fringe. A part of him was afraid of what Snape might tell him.

''You were not sleeping?'' Snape asked finally, as Harry gave into weariness and rubbed at his eyes with his fist. ''I knocked. You did not move. I could not tell-''

''No, I was awake,'' Harry assured him, looking up sharply and noticing a flicker of fear, and also brief hope, in the man's eyes as he grasped at a means of escape. ''I was waiting.''

''Nevertheless, I would rather preference rest if you are indeed fatigued-'' Snape attempted, but Harry cut him off stubbornly, his confidence growing with Snape's uncertainty.

''I'm _fine_...'' he said firmly, but faltered slightly under the intense gaze of his mentor. He never could lie to Snape. ''Ok, so I'm knackered, but I still want to hear your story.''

Snape did not look at all surprised. ''Predictable,'' he muttered tiredly, without malice, and motioned Harry towards his writing desk. ''Then sit.''

Harry pushed his achy limbs from the bed and followed quickly, ignoring pointedly the heavy limp that remained as Snape walked in front of him, for the man would only grow uncomfortable and defensive if he spoke of it.

He could detect a clinical sort of smell also, that was far from pleasant. It reminded Harry of hospitals, but he assumed this was something to do with the muggle treatment Snape had been forced to administer on himself, and refrained from comment.

Harry watched, discomfort written all over his face, as Snape lowered himself delicately into a chair, a brief look of pain passing across his features as the wood made contact with his dark robe that covered battered skin. Offering to assist the man in some way, even if he wanted to, would cause more problems than not.

Harry would certainly be on his guard and alert if he did need to act, and would not hesitate in doing so, no matter what Snape said, but for know he knew better than to intervene as Snape embarked on his own road to recovery. Harry knew only too well how it felt to be vulnerable in a time of ill-health and could only respect Snape's desire to be left alone, as during his fever, he'd often felt very much the same.

Harry's hands twisted together in his lap. His fever may have been dealt with but his occlumency skills were still decidedly shocking. His mind, and memories, remained in a similar state of disarray as they had been for a long while, and he fought the bleak set of images that reminded him only too well of his own pain, like Snape's, suffered at the hands of Voldemort.

-

Snape wasn't quite sure how Harry had managed to convince him into doing this, tonight of all nights, but he had said he'd allow the boy slightly more freedom with what he heard, and he intended to follow up on that promise. Harry had very low expectations when it came to promises, and for some, bizarre reason, Snape was determined to be trusted.

Besides, Harry could handle this knowledge, even if it wasn't pleasant. The boy wasn't likely to desist in his begging until he was told anyway, and Snape was more than keen for that to happen.

That relentlessly pitying expression the boy had plastered to his face, however, was not something Snape was prepared to contend with. Sympathy was not something he was used to, and though the warm feeling of being wanted was not wholly unwelcome, it was unsettling, and the incomprehension of that feeling was a disturbance. He would not dwell, or succumb, to such soft emotions. It would aid neither of them to deal with this subject with any degree of sentimentality, however small.

''Take that ridiculous look off your face, Potter,'' he said curtly, brushing his new, immaculate robe aside as he shifted in his seat, refusing to allow himself the freedom to wince. ''I remain alive and have no immediate plans to greet death. You need not be so...tense.''

Harry, however, did wince and looked very much as though he was going to say something uncomfortably and embarrassingly emotional, but Snape spoke loudly before he could get the words out.

''You asked where I was? Then let us divert our attention from my physical state of impairment, and I shall answer.''

Harry, not as controlled as Snape, paled considerably as he stared up into his mentor's gaunt face, and wondered suddenly why he had been so keen to know such a horrific story. Snape seemed to be thinking along the same lines, but he'd made up his mind, and Harry would not so easily escape the consequences of his own choices.

When Harry continued to appear deeply apprehensive, Snape held his tongue for a moment longer and eyed the boy more closely. Surely his injuries could not have affected the boy so much. Harry had seen the effect of Voldemort's cruelty before. There was no reason for such intense discomfort.

Harry's cheeks coloured slightly and he dropped his eyes, unable to quell his own discomfort with Snape's injuries. He felt childish and cowardly, but he could not seem to relax himself enough to prove he was ready to be told yet more dark tales.

He tried not to look at Snape's hip, where he knew the bite was concealed under layers of thick material, but his eyes were drawn there of their own accord and he felt his stomach squirm.

It had made him far more distressed than he would ever have guessed to see the man in such agony. Snape was acting as though nothing at all had happened, and that he hadn't been screaming and writhing in such intense pain less than an hour ago. Harry could not understand it. His own adrenaline was still lingering in his system, yet Snape managed to appear so calm. It was infuriating and more than confusing.

Harry was not unaware of his growing fondness towards Snape, but this immediate, intense dislike of anyone who'd hurt him so badly was not something he'd expected either. It bordered on rage and would almost match a similar protectiveness he had over his closest friends, and Snape certainly wasn't one of those.

Snape softened his voice with a sigh, finally putting Harry's obvious unease down to his own fear, remaining from the ordeal he'd suffered tonight, rather than a combination of this and empathy on his behalf. He couldn't allow himself to forget how young the boy was.

Ignoring their frantic search for a cure to his poison, with all the panic and horror, as he'd so hoped to do, was obviously not going to be good enough.

''Relax, Harry. I know how you delight in melodramatic situations, but I can assure you, the danger is passed. We are both quite safe.''

Some of the tension left Harry's stiff posture as he tried to do as was asked. Snape nodded approvingly, catching himself before he could do something foolish like attempt to soothe the boy's rigid shoulders with his own itching hands.

''Relax,'' he repeated, the firmness in his voice undermined slightly by the soothing tone. ''I refuse to do this otherwise.''

Harry took a deep breath, shutting his eyes briefly against the darkness that overcrowded his thoughts. ''I am calm. I promise.''

Snape's eyes roamed the lines of Harry's face briefly, trusting his own judgment far more than Harry's on these matters, before he cleared his throat and settled back, looking, with all his normal hypocrisy, tenser than ever.

Deliberately connecting their gazes, Snape gripped the arms of the chair tightly as he put an answer to the burning question in Harry's intense green eyes.

''I was summoned tonight, shortly after you had fallen asleep, by the Dark Lord,'' he begun, his voice strained, though carefully void of any emotion. ''It was not the most convenient of times, but, as you know, Potter, in this matter, there is hardly the freedom of choice for me to select preference and refuse his calling. A dozen others were summoned, a meeting ensued and, as predicted, the Dark Lord did not let us leave without...issuing warning.''

Snape paused here, eyeing Harry closely through dark, tired eyes. He found the boy listening distastefully, with rapt attention.

Snape continued in a low, expressionless voice before he could lose his nerve. ''He was...most displeased. His plans have not been as successful as he would have hoped. His attempts to acquire the prophecy-''

''Oh god,'' Harry groaned with realisation, shaking his head in self-disgust, ''this is my fault. He's after the prophecy. I knew it. Sir, I...I'm so...I...''

''What, Potter?'' Snape raised an eyebrow in annoyance when Harry failed to complete his sentence coherently. ''You are sorry? For what, may I ask? The fact that he tortured me, mocked me, taunted me in a fashion not much different to that which he did you not so many weeks ago-''

''He didn't...'' Harry winced, taking a deep breath to combat his nerves. ''He didn't hurt me as much as has you.''

Snape's eyes were sharp on Harry's face for a few, heart stopping moments, before he looked away with a grunt.

''Physically, perhaps, my injuries have been more extensive. But I, unlike you, Potter, have means by which to occlude myself from such...brutality,'' he spat the word, and for the first time seemed unable to keep the true bitterness from his words. ''Our afflictions do not need to be matched, but dispelled entirely. Our... suffering may be intertwined, Potter, but they are not directly linked. No action on your part resulted in my...fate. It was more a failure to act, deliberately, as my duties require of me. The prophecy cannot be found, Potter. Not by the Dark Lord. All else is inconsequential when compared to this fact.''

They both sat still for a moment, the atmosphere tense as they both threw silent curses at the man who had made both of their lives a misery.

Harry would admit that he was surprised Snape saw his own pain as an inevitable fact, and almost worthy of disregard when assessing the bigger picture. It sounded like something Dumbledore would say, not Snape. Perhaps the two were not so different, at heart. Perhaps all of them were not so different. They all wanted the same thing after all. Harry just hadn't realised, until now, the measures that all his mentors, as a collective group, were willing to go to reach their goal, and also what equal sacrifice would be required of him.

''You did not concoct that infernal prophecy, Potter,'' Snape continued dismissively, an edge of finality to his tone now that he saw understanding in Harry's eyes. ''You are not to blame for what has transpired tonight. I can assure you that it was not a unique event.''

''Yes, sir,'' Harry whispered, shivering slightly under the weight of Snape's words. ''And what about his plans? If he can't get the-''

''It is not a case of _can't_, Potter, but of when, and how we shall prevent it,'' Snape answered curtly. '''_We'_ being the Order,'' he added sternly, ''you and I have discussed this before. At length. The protection of the prophecy-''

''Is not my responsibility,'' Harry completed for him, ''I know, but how are you going to stop it? Did Voldemort say at the meeting how he was-''

''No,'' Snape waved his hand dismissively, ''nothing is ever declared in black and white form with the Dark Lord. He is always suspecting, awaiting willingly to remove those from his ranks who may betray him. The prophecy is his greatest desire. He would not discuss such serious plans in a large meeting.''

Harry nodded in acceptance, unsure, now that the base facts had been covered, how much more detail Snape was going to confide in him.

As the silence stretched, Harry found any further questions stuck somewhere at the back of his throat. He wanted to know more, he always did, but the darkness behind these discussions was not something he appreciated when his nightmares were already so awful.

Snape raised an eyebrow at his student, tilting his head to the side slightly in questioning as he examined the boy.

''Has this satisfied your immediate desire for forbidden information, Potter?'' he asked, eyes drifting towards the clock above Harry's head. ''You now know where I have been. If that is all-''

''It's not,'' Harry said quickly, stamping down irritably on his own fears of the truth before Snape could leave. ''I want to know all you'll tell me. But...'' he remembered his earlier guilt, ''If you want to sleep-''

''What else would I want after such an evening, Potter?'' Snape snapped irritably. ''You have taken up precious hours of my time over the duration of the previous two weeks. Do not think that you can take such liberty with the remainder. I should not inform you of anything further... It would not be appropriate.''

Harry shifted uncomfortably, effectively rebuked. Snape always did have the ability to make him appear a fool with a minimum amount of words.

Before Harry could do something foolish like try to apologise, Snape continued in a more tolerant tone. ''That does not mean I won't, however. You shall not thrash around for the remainder of the night, unsettled due to that overactive curiosity of yours, Potter, and weigh on my conscience. Yet, if you do not query me, I cannot ease your mind, or else bring you clarity. I assumed with your silence that you were satisfied... Foolish of me. You are relentlessly curious.''

Unsure whether he was being criticised or not, Harry nodded, showing to Snape that he was right, and he did indeed, selfishly, want to know more.

''Of course...'' Snape shook his head, apparently displeased, on this occasion, to be proved correct.

Harry felt a familiar scowl creep onto his own features, as Snape eyed him with such distaste, and he was reminded forcefully of all the times he'd used that expression since he'd been at the Manor. His annoyance with Snape's confusing signals only rose further as the man managed to both insult him, and show his selfless preference for his, Harry's, own peace of mind, in just a few short sentences.

The fact that he was here, tired and beaten, willing to share his dark memories, was enough to show he must care immensely about him, but his actions, and words alike, continued to confuse Harry into doubt.

''If I'm such a burden-'' he begun but Snape growled over him, apparently too tired to argue.

''You're not a burden, Potter,'' he grumbled, giving the boy a dark look of impatience to contrast this opinion entirely. ''Far from it. That is not what I meant at all.''

Harry blinked in surprise and glanced up hesitantly, but Snape had paled dramatically and swayed dangerously where he'd risen sharply to his feet. Harry lunged forwards, without thinking, and managed to awkwardly guide the man back to his seat before he collapsed. Too much effort, too fast for such a weakened body, had overpowered Snape's senses and he was left gasping painfully.

Harry knew better than to expect a thank you, but, as Snape failed to reprimand him for his undesired aid, his silence provided the gratitude he refused to say in words.

''Go to bed, sir,'' Harry said finally, as Snape's breathing gradually evened, his head bowed. He wouldn't have Snape any weaker because of him. Talking could wait. ''Just go. Forget this. I don't need to know anymore.''

Snape opened one eye and peered at him through a chunk of dark, greasy hair. ''Ask your questions, Potter, and then we can both claim sleep.''

He prised himself out of Harry's supporting grip and straightened up slowly, setting himself a mental reminder not to make such abrupt movements in future. Slumping back, he fought waves of drowsiness and growing fatigue, wondering all the while when a decent night sleep for the boy had become more important than his own.

''How did you get bitten?'' Harry asked reluctantly. He wouldn't get much rest unless his frantic mind was given some answers, but the stress Snape was under was more than enough for him to ignore such a thing. Harry hadn't realised then how selfish his demands had been until now.

''Nagini was set upon a group of us,'' Snape spoke quickly, his eyes darkening a fraction as he recalled more of what he had experienced.

For a moment, as Snape's face twisted into such a bitter, needy expression, it seemed to Harry like the man needed to get this off his chest, and make his own pain and sacrifice known and acknowledged, as much as Harry thought he needed to hear it, even if both could not communicate such wants verbally.

Regardless, they needed to get this explanation over and done with.

''A form of punishment for our inability to gather sufficient information. My mind was...elsewhere. Unlike you, Potter, I cannot run at speed while intensely fatigued. I was pinned to the floor. Snake venom, though deadly, is far less effective than multiple torture spells. Combine the two and, as you can imagine, the effects are unbearable.''

The description grew further morbid as Snape's eyes unfocused, drifting away from Harry's and into the past of his own black memories, until Harry was forced to interrupt.

''Sir, please-'' He had heard enough, but he knew Snape was going to make him pay for his pressurising. There was a lesson to be learnt in everything.

''The creature struck me. I daren't use my wand. The Dark Lord, as you know, Potter, takes great pride in his snakes. I would be dead before I cast the first spell. I allowed her to inject the venom. I stood. I fled. Being a potion master holds its advantages, I must admit. I will be the only death eater, at tonight's meeting, to have survived the encounter.''

Harry was chilled to the bone, as he witnessed the deep hatred in Snape's eyes and complete lack of pity for those men, lying cold and dead when he so easily could have been among them.

Snape came to an abrupt stop, the temper in his eyes dying slowly as his concentration was drawn back completely onto the shaking boy in front of him, and withdrew himself from his memories. His hands shook as they clasped in front of him, and he instantly regretted his brief lapse in control. He hadn't planned on being so graphic but his own mind could prove vividly accurate when allowed to lead his thoughts into such darkness.

Keeping himself detatched during this his explanation had certainly been a failure.

He'd had no intention to share these particular details with the boy, but Harry had provoked him. The look of horror on his face now made Snape shiver internally, and he cared far less about any lesson that may have been learnt by their discussion, than for that fear to be wiped away.

On a day when Harry was fit and strong, Snape would have forced him to bear such ugly truths, but with illness, encouraging tolerance of such dark thoughts was not his priority. The boy contended with enough evil already. Snape had come to loathe adding to it, yet that is exactly what he had done. Harry didn't have to know that he had been the one, alone and ill, that Snape had been uncharacteristically fretting over. His mind could not afford to be preoccupied while he was in the presence of Voldemort. The horrific result of his carelessness was as much his own fault.

Harry trembled, swallowing back his intense distaste and nausea as he was forced comprehend just the magnitude of Snape's life within Voldemort's ranks. He hadn't known what to expect, but he'd never assumed that Voldemort would treat his own followers with such disregard.

''I am not unused to this treatment, Harry,'' Snape attempted to calm the boy, ''It is not unfamiliar within-''

Harry groaned as he was assaulted with a new wave of horror, but hid his fear, determined to prove that he was ready to deal with this sort of information.

''You mean...this has happened before? This bad? Not when I've been here...I would have seen...''

''Potter...'' Snape sighed and ran a weary hand over his face as he experienced an odd, unpleasant sinking sensation in his gut. He made to stand. If the boy was that naive, he certainly wasn't going to break any fragile hopes he may still hold, and reveal the harsh reality of his job. He wouldn't be the bringer of that pain. Not to Harry. For the first time, Snape entertained the idea that ignorance was not always a fault.

''Perhaps we should continue this in the morning.''

''No, wait a second,'' Harry called him back, feeling guilty once again for barring Snape's exit when he so obviously didn't want to be there, but he had to know. ''Please, just tell me... Have you been called, this summer, before tonight?''

The thought of Snape running around, being tortured half to death why he, Harry, slept on unaware, and treated him with such hatred each day after all he'd suffered for the side of light, was enough to turn his insides to ice.

Snape stared at Harry uncertainly, half out of his seat. Inwardly, he was doubting his decision ever to grant the boy this unusual amount of insight into his double life. He shouldn't have done this tonight. He was a fool for coming here, to Harry of all people, whom he suddenly wanted desperately to protect, when he was so tired and confused and messed up.

''Were you?'' Harry pleaded.

''Potter...'' Snape translated the question only as 'did you leave me?' He had not betrayed the boy, nor left him willingly and was reluctant to be seen as such.

''Sir, please. I have to know. Has this happened before?''

An eternity passed as Snape stared, unseeing into the pools of green, and his resolve slowly crumbled. Before he could take it back, his lips had curled round distastefully and he spoke. ''Yes.''

Harry gasped softly, his head dropping in defeat. It shouldn't bother him, he knew that. It was just hard to accept the idea of his mentor, who he'd come to respect and _trust_ a great deal, would do this without feeling the need to inform him.

They both had their privacy, and freedom with their own personal time, but Harry could not come to terms with the irrational coldness that enclosed him as he imagined Snape, his teacher and mentor, bearing pain and accepting it as though it was a regular, acceptable occurrence.

Harry could understand now, at least part of Snape's intense bitterness, and the reason why he acted the way he did. He expected that he'd react in a similar way if he was in Snape's lonely shoes.

To make it worse, Snape really was alone. Dumbledore was the only one he could confide in. He had no friends that Harry was aware of. No Ron and Hermione, always there for him. Harry knew just how alone it was possible to feel without friends, after the last few weeks experience.

Harry suddenly felt sick and it only strengthened his resolve to kill Voldemort, sooner rather than later.

''How many times?'' he asked quietly, wincing at his own stupid question and internally debating whether or not he really wanted to know.

Snape kept his eyes trained on Harry's face, even though the boy was looking anywhere but at him. He had no reason to feel guilty, yet he still felt unreasonably traitorous.

Swallowing back an unusual amount of distaste in himself, Snape lowered himself back into his chair and vowed to finish what he had started.

''More than I can account for,'' he answered honestly.

Harry winced and his growing fear and distaste was only made more apparent.

Snape relented to his conscience and dropped his voice. ''I told you I had been nowhere pleasant, Potter. The truth is, as always, not always the most...sympathetic on the ears.''

''I _want_ the truth,'' Harry said firmly, though his voice held far less conviction than it had previously. Snape decided to test it.

''Are you sure, Potter? You asked for honesty. Here you have it and you are shaking like a man posessed. Never have I lured you into false pretences concerning my whereabouts. You were informed that my assistance may be required by the Dark Lord on your arrival at the Manor. You have no reason to be surprised.''

''Yes, I know,'' Harry agreed reluctantly, unwilling to reveal the true reason for a great part of his upset.

When Snape continued to look levelly at him, an eyebrow raised in questioning, Harry realised that he had no choice but to explain. He didn't doubt Snape would use occlumency, however painful, if he created enough suspicion and made him curious enough about to his thoughts.

''I just...'' Harry sighed, a pinkish tinge colouring his pale cheeks. ''I just thought...maybe you would _want _to tell me.''

Snape raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised. ''And why on earth would I want to do that?''

Harry felt himself redden further, and began cursing himself for making assumptions, before he realised Snape may not be being entirely truthful to him, as much as he'd begged him to be.

''Don't...Don't, sir,'' Harry sighed. ''Stop confusing me. You can't keep changing your mind, it's not fair. You promised to tell me things I didn't need to know-'

''And here I am doing exactly that.''

''Yes,'' Harry agreed, ''you are, though reluctantly. And you said that you...that maybe, well you implied that you cared more for me that you once did. I thought things would have been...different after.'' Harry stammered off, finding it decidedly hard to be honest himself.

Snape sighed deeply, a small suspicion arising as to the foundations of this inner turmoil the boy was competing with. He would have to make himself clear.

''Rule number one, Potter: Never...assume anything about me unless it is informed directly from my person. If I imply something... consider it negotiable.''

Harry didn't understand. Was Snape denying their reconcilement, or merely brushing it aside as though it was of little consequence? To Harry, what they had agreed on was irreversible. Snape could be as apprehensive enough as he liked, but that didn't mean he could change the rules. Harry was scared himself about the implications of their truce, yet they'd both known what they wanted, and he was sure further misunderstanding and conflict wasn't part of it.

''I can understand that, sir,'' he said patiently, pushing his well worn bravery to the surface. ''But I _did_ assume, and you allowed me to, what is worse? You said that you were open to a more...understanding relationship between us.''

Harry saw Snape visibly stiffen but continued stubbornly nevertheless. ''I thought you said...sorry, _implied_, that you didn't hate me anymore and if I lik- _didn't hate_ a person, I would feel uncomfortable with keeping something like this from them. Especially when they were ill. You could have been hurt.''

Snape looked blank but Harry knew the look well enough to know that there was a very different story taking place beneath the surface of the man's calm exterior, at least he hoped so.

Snape's throat was suddenly very dry, as he considered all the propositions which, against all that he'd taught, Harry had so untactfully implied. It seemed the boy was going to, against all the odds, suggest that a truce wasn't enough. Snape did not want Harry to expect anything from him, it would only end in disappointment.

Dumbledore had been right. The boy really had learnt to like him. Snape felt his heart clench painfully as he recognised such a friendship with the boy could never last.

''I have no intention of...breaking our truce, Mr. Potter,'' he said quickly, before he could dwell too much on what the boy had said, ''But I...''

For the first time, in many years, Snape felt exceedingly uncomfortable in another's presence, and was unable to defend himself from it. His usual brashness and curses towards the boy were no longer effective. He was stripped of too many of his layers of defences to formulate an effective response. Instead, he said the only thing that he could articulate.

''What do you want from me?''

Harry opened his mouth immediately, with a reply, but shut it firmly soon after. What did he want?

''Good question...'' Harry murmured, sighing miserably in confusion. He wanted Snape to train him, to protect him, to care for him...Yet Snape had been one of the greatest oppressors in his life. Snape had made him a dejected, and equally confused and unhappy, first year in potions, a despondent, pessimistic second year, a defiant third year and a quick tempered, angry fourth year.

Could the fifth year really hold something different? Could Harry bring himself to forgive that easily?

A part of him argued that he already had, but until he could convince his more rational, cynical side that Snape still wasn't out to get him, he remained undecided and therefore confused as to what he wanted from the man.

Sometimes it seemed so simple, but in Snape's actual presence, Harry was as thrown off balance as he always was. Snape was not soft on him, not by any means, and was often short tempered and ridiculously impatient. He was hardly likable in most aspects, yet Harry felt drawn to him. When he'd been sick, Snape was to care for him. When training, Snape was to teach. Harry hadn't wanted anyone else.

But When Harry was content and healthy, Snape's role was harder to picture. Harry had a guardian already. He had Sirius. His godfather meant the world to him. No one could take his place.

''May I make a suggestion, Mr. Potter?'' Snape said finally, a small concentrated frown creasing his forehead. He looked thoughtful, and almost slightly in awe as he regarded his student. When Harry nodded, he continued. ''I believe one word will suffice.''

''What's that, sir?'' Harry asked, unsure whether Snape really understood what he wanted and what he, Harry, was so indecisive about.

''Patience,'' Snape answered softly.

Harry's eyes widened for a moment as they met Snape's, reflecting all of the possibility that awaited them in the future.

''Emotions, if you are not already aware, are not my favourite pursuit,'' Snape said awkwardly, willing Harry to understand his own discomfort with this situation, and realise that he was not merely being brushed off. ''I shall not deny that I am...acceptable to a...temporary, mutual...''

He struggled to find the word but Harry jumped in to his rescue, giving a soft, wry laugh.

''I think that's it,'' Harry said in response to Snape's inability to produce an appropriate term. ''Until I realise what it that I want, and you decide how close you want to let me, it's wrong of me to want you to...take more responsibility over me. I...You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to. I was just being stupid. I know I don't have the right to ask for anything.''

Snape nodded tightly, unsure quite how they had reached this topic of conversation.

''I am not a reckless man. You will have to prove yourself far more effectively to me if you expect me to become any further likable to your character, Potter. Regardless, I am not offering to fill any permanent role in your problematic existence.''

Harry snorted, Snape's harsh words cracking through the air like the whip as a reminder of the man's demanding, pitiless nature, even if the he had sounded as though he were convincing himself also, and not just his impatient student.

An agreement simply not to hate each other, taken so seriously, would have seemed trivial and silly to anyone else, but to this pair it was a vital part of their lives that was changing, and it had heavy implications for both of them.

Humour, however, was not far under the surface and they both knew that a common alliance, without the insecurities and doubts that they held now, was not far out of reach. Snape was right. It would just take time. Their acknowledgment to accept such a fate positively was what had Harry smiling widely at his mentor, bravely testing these new, dangerous waters. He understood now. He and Snape were on the same page but unlike him, Snape was unwilling to rush things. He would come to terms with his affection for Harry in his own time.

''We are merely discussing a mutual arrangement for the summer. Conflict aside, I think that the time spent in the other's company could prove...bearable,'' Snape continued on a lighter note, a hint of a smile playing about his lips as he relaxed more solidly against his chair, his remaining energy seeming to drain out of him.

Harry nodded, smiling warmly. He felt himself grow less tense as Snape finally seemed to relax. He respected this rare openness that his mentor was showing with his emotions. It was obviously not easy for him.

He knew exactly how Snape felt, as he was the same. He'd no desire to rush anything between them. He'd just have to be patient and wait for things to naturally progress on their own. He wasn't a fool. He knew that Snape's declaration the other night had been a rare occurrence and was unlikely to become anything more familiar. He'd just have to get better at reading the signs, subtle as they were.

Before Harry could say anything else, Snape had risen delicately to his feet and was addressing him from the open doorway.

''Mr. Potter,'' he said seriously, ''I...''

Harry raised an eyebrow, also getting to his feet. He drifted sleepily towards the comfort of his bed. His desperation for information had been satisfied, for now, and he wanted nothing more than to curl up and sleep. ''Hmm?''

''I must...thank you. For saving my skin. Without your clumsy assistance, I would have missed this fascinating bout of awe inspiring conversation,'' he said with difficulty, waving his hand smartly between them for emphasis. ''The headmaster shall be arriving in the morning and you have successfully rescued my chance of another dreary debate that, more likely than not, will be directed towards the weather rather than our current situation.''

Harry ignored the sarcasm, and accepted the praise. He felt a warm rush towards Snape, and relished in the first 'thank you' from the man he'd ever received. ''Any time.''

Snape eyed him appraisingly for a moment, a sense of peace in his pain filled black eyes, before he closed the door with a snap.


	22. Unwanted Intervention

---

Harry awoke the next morning after a fitful night's sleep. Admittedly, he'd gained much more rest than he would have done, had Snape not spent such precious time explaining the reasons for his absence, but it had been predictably unsatisfying nonetheless.

He'd dreamt of the graveyard again, except this time it had been Snape lying, mouth and eyes open in silent horror, cold and dead, and not Cedric. Harry knew exactly why this disturbing alteration had unsettled him so, and it did nothing to console him. A major setback to caring whether Severus Snape lived or died, was that the man was often in compromising situations where his life was in the balance.

Shivering, despite the fact the room was quite warm, Harry threw back his sheets, glanced affectionately at Hedwig and padded across to his bathroom, deliberately ignoring his own tired, pale face in the mirror.

He took a long, soothing shower. It had been a while since he'd felt strong enough to do so, and therefore, he made sure to wash himself extra thoroughly to make up for his unintended neglect to hygiene his body had suffered throughout his illness. The appreciation of being to walk and talk, without pain and discomfort, still lingered after spending so long in bed with fever, and he revelled in the novelty of it.

Harry brushed his teeth vigorously, his previous attempts to clean himself, while feverous, now seeming pathetic compared to his present forceful treatment. He felt as though the final elements of his fever were being washed away, leaving him squeaky clean and refreshingly healthy.

Smiling in satisfaction, he wrapped himself in one of the old, flea bitten towels he'd brought from the Dursley's and wandered from the steam filled bathroom, bare foot. He flopped back onto his bed, adrenaline building as he considered, without taking for granted, all of the possibilities that lay ahead of him with physical health on his side.

He was unsure what Snape would have planned for today, as intense training was obviously not an option. If continuation of where they left off, before their unfortunate interruption, was proposed, now that he was well on his way to recovery, Harry would argue his disapproval.

As much as he longed to get started again, he wouldn't allow Snape to work in such a fragile state. Harry felt guilty enough already for the man's pain and wouldn't add to it. If he insisted still, Harry would force him to use his wand and heal himself properly. It was only fair. Absently nodding himself, Harry portrayed his confidence to a sleepy and bewildered Hedwig.

He dressed quickly and quietly, eager, but also apprehensive, about what the day had in store for him, pausing to wonder, only briefly, about his new, unexpected optimism. He could only hope it lasted.

Harry moved swiftly along the landing, his long-neglected stomach rumbling loudly. He glanced briefly at Snape's closed bedroom door as he passed, and assumed the man was still sleeping from lack of noise being emitted.

However, he soon found himself mistaken, as he pushed open the kitchen door to find his mentor sat at the table, fully dressed and in deep in conversation with an unexpected guest.

''Sir?'' Harry blurted in surprise. The headmaster's intended arrival had slipped his mind, and therefore, he found himself entirely unprepared for another confrontation.

Both men fell immediately silent with Harry's interruption. A copy of the Daily Prophet lay between them, covered in ink where various words or phrases had been underlined, circled or blacked out entirely.

The article was conspicuously covered by Dumbledore's elbow as Harry wandered inside the room, looking between his teachers suspiciously.

''Good morning, Harry,'' Dumbledore said sincerely, giving a small, tense smile as he surveyed the boy before him.

The apprehension on the headmaster's face reminded Harry strongly of the awkward conversation that they'd had on their last encounter, and he instantly felt uncomfortable.

However, he couldn't help but return the smile tensely, overcome for a moment with sadness, as he recognised the lack of genuine warmth in the man's face that he would once have been greeted with.

Dumbledore rarely succumbed to awkwardness; he was far too jovial and clever in the manipulation of emotions, but it seemed a nerve had finally been struck. As much as Harry hated to admit it, despite all the wrong the man had done by him, his harmless nature was faultless. He was an old man; brilliantly powerful and wiser than anyone he'd ever met, but an aging man nonetheless. The threat of war overhanging him constantly was a burden Harry himself could understand only too well.

Dumbledore's face crinkled into a more deliberate smile, with a flicker of gentle relief, as he acknowledged Harry's attempt to return the gesture. He was astute enough to gather, that through Harry's uncertainly and wavering hostility, was a sign that he was considering calling an end to their dispute. His hope that this was true was clear in the lightening of his grave expression.

''You look healthy, my boy,'' he remarked fondly. ''Your mentor has told me all about your miraculous recovery.''

Harry nodded, stretching his fingers appreciatively in order to demonstrate his new flexibility. ''I do feel much better.''

''Excellent.''

Glancing at the table for somewhere neutral to look, Harry noticed a wand beside Dumbledore's toast. Reminded of his and Snape's own temporary inability to do magic, Harry took a longer look at his mentor. He had only a few remaining cuts and bruises, save a few.

On realising that the headmaster must have healed him, Harry felt his grudge slip a little further towards forgiveness.

Deliberately ignoring Dumbledore's intense gaze, Harry allowed his eyes to travel the length of the table. He attempted to make out the headline of the paper, but a pale hand swept across the table to the article, wrenching it from under Dumbledore's arm and flipping it over.

''Sit down and have some breakfast,'' Dumbledore smiled, ignoring his staff's abrupt actions. ''Severus and I were just discussing your heroics last night.''

Snape snorted loudly. ''Must you glorify him so, Albus?'' he sniped, casting a sharp glance in Harry's direction. Their eyes met only for a moment, but it was time enough for Snape to greet the boy with a brief softening of his eyes, letting Harry know that there was no real malice behind his words.

Harry grinned back at him. Subtlety was not his greatest asset. He wondered at the day when Snape would actually greet him properly in the mornings, with perhaps a 'hello' and a query as to whether he had a pleasant sleep.

However, as Snape dropped his eyes to the paper before him, his features hardening into his previous disdainful expression, Harry realised that, for now, these small gestures were more than enough. It hardly mattered that he never received a proper greeting when a mere glance could portray so much.

Harry missed the curiosity in Dumbledore's eyes as he watched the exchange, as did Snape, forgetting for a moment that the headmaster could be unnervingly perceptive, especially when a situation warranted such critical attention.

Harry wavered, unsure where he should sit. He cleared his throat, smoothing out his t-shirt unconsciously through nervousness.

Dumbledore ignored the predictable, snide comment from Snape and eyed Harry appraisingly, breaking the silence that had fallen upon the room. ''You must have demonstrated a very sharp mind last night, Harry,'' he said softly. ''Snake venom spreads extraordinarily fast. I am very proud of you.''

Harry shifted uncomfortably. It felt strange to be so civil with a man he'd resented for so long, even if he was acceptable to a compromise between them, and he was unsure of how to receive this praise. He could feel Snape's eyes shift from the table top to his face, and after a tense moment, to his relief, he was rescued.

''Do not linger, Potter,'' Snape snapped, drawing a chair beside him and pushing forwards a bowl of Harry's favourite cereal. ''Sit down.''

''Yes, professor,'' Harry moved swiftly round Dumbledore and took the seat at Snape's side, claiming a spoon and eating quickly in the hope that it would excuse him from unwanted conversation.

Unfortunately, his plan was to prove ineffective. Dumbledore seemed intent to draw him into speach.

''I expect that simple food is something of a treasure after the last few weeks of consuming little more than nutrient potions,'' Dumbledore wondered aloud, sitting back in his chair and watching Harry bolt down his breakfast. ''Not that they aren't exceeding grand designs, Severus, but nothing can contend with a good, hearty meal.''

Harry nodded in agreement for a lack of a better response.

''Professor?'' He turned to Snape suddenly, as he accidentally jigged Dumbledore's own, exceptionally long wand with his wrist. ''_Your_ wand? What happened to it? Last night…I forgot to ask.''

Snape made a small grunting sound as he turned a page of the newspaper, keeping it carefully out of Harry's line of sight. ''Good question, Potter. I would also appreciate an answer to that particular mystery.''

Harry frowned, uncomprehending. ''What does that mean?''

With a sigh, Snape shot him an annoyed glance over the top of the paper. ''It means, Potter, that I believe my wand has been... misplaced.''

Harry stared at him blankly. ''You lost it?''

It seemed quite possible that Snape may have dropped it in his desperation to avoid Nagini, but apparently this was the wrong thing to have suggested, for Snape winced heavily. The expression quickly turned into a scowl as Dumbledore let out a short chuckle of amusement.

''Be quiet, Albus,'' Snape murmured darkly, shooting the man a scathing look. ''It is not amusing.''

''Of course not, Severus. The situation is dire, but Harry was not to know that,'' Dumbledore said, casting an apologetic glance at his staff. As Harry continued to look confused, he added quietly, ''Professor Snape is not a man to simply lose his wand, Harry.''

''I know,'' Harry agreed firmly, ''but-''

''I did not lose it,'' Snape snarled impatiently. ''I would not be so careless. It was taken from me.''

''We do not know that, Severus-'' Dumbledore said seriously, but Snape spoke over him, dismissively.

''The fact remains that I am without a means by which to direct my magic. I fail to see the difference.''

When Snape refused to say anything more on the matter, Harry turned back to the headmaster with a raised eyebrow.

The older man merely shrugged unhelpfully, respecting his staffs' decision to remain silent. He looked as though he hoped Snape would formulate an answer of his own. When he didn't, Dumbledore plucked another piece of toast from the middle of the table, with a sigh, and proceeded to coat it in a thick layer of jam.

''Do have some toast, Severus,'' he said lightly, peering critically at him through his half-moon glasses. ''You are so thin.''

''He never eats in the morning,'' Harry explained, wolfing down a large mouthful of cereal. ''But he always makes sure I eat mine.''

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow and glanced in Severus' direction. ''Is that so?''

Severus merely grunted absently in confirmation, his dark eyes trained on the text before him. Dumbledore looked rather affectionately amused at the intimacy in the familiarity between mentor and student, while tactfully ignoring Harry's tinted cheeks, as he realised how much affection he'd unintentionally allowed into his voice.

That Harry should know his mentor's eating habits said a lot more about their relationship than Dumbledore was going to be able to guess with words. Both Harry and Severus were hard men to read when they wanted to be, and he was most curious as to this strange, albeit remarkable peace that seemed to have fallen between them.

''How did you get back to the Manor without apparating then?'' Harry asked insistently, wanting to change the subject. He didn't want to make Snape uncomfortable by implying that they were closer than they were, especially in front of the headmaster. He was certain that Snape wouldn't want to broadcast that fact that he no longer hated Harry Potter, after years of relentlessly campaigning for his expulsion.

Snape stiffened visibly as Harry queried wandless apparation, glancing sharply at Dumbledore before answering vaugely. ''I do not know... though the headmaster has some theories…''

From the tone of his voice, Harry took it that Snape did not agree with these ideas.

''Hmm,'' Dumbledore confirmed, thumbing his beard with a thoughtful expression. ''Severus does not agree with me, of course, but I am under the impression that you, Harry, desired the presence of your mentor to such an extent, last night, that you drew him home with your own magical power. A wand was not required.''

Harry sat in stunned silence for a moment, before he came to his senses and shook his head adamantly in disbelief.

''I don't think so, sir. I_ can't_ have apparated him. I can't even apparate myself! We haven't even started learning...''

''Precisely my point of reasoning, Mr. Potter,'' Snape agreed tersely, ''but the headmaster seems to think that your power goes above and beyond even that of his own.''

''That was not my argument, Severus, as you well know,'' Dumbledore reprimanded lightly. ''I have never desired the company of one so much that I could draw them with my own strength alone. Harry, on the other hand, must have been- forgive me, Harry- exceptionally upset on the night of your departure, Severus. Subconsciously, he must have known your dangerous location. Is that right, Harry?''

Harry shrugged. ''Yeah, I guessed, but I didn't know-''

''Exactly, Albus. The boy was not even aware-''

''Oh, I think we both know that he was, Severus, and he was very concerned for your welfare. And rightfully so, my boy. Why should one not care for the life of their teacher? You should be thanking him, not cursing. You know the methods by which this spell works...''

Snape gave the older man a warning look, as though silently forbidding him to go on. When Dumbledore merely stared back innocently, he stood up sharply and stalked over to the sink to busy himself with the kettle, muttering under his breath.

''I don't understand,'' Harry said, looking between the two mens' contrasting reactions with confusion. He was obviously missing something. They all knew he didn't have that much power. It was impossible.

Dumbledore looked at him kindly and raised an eyebrow enquiringly, giving him permission to prod the matter further.

Harry glanced nervously at Snape's angry figure before he spoke, unable to comprehend why Dumbledore's suggestion would upset him so much. They'd both acknowledged that they cared about eachother. ''Does he not think I'm just strong enough or…''

''Oh, I think it's slightly more than that. You see, Harry, according to my theory, the desire for another's presence would have to be entirely pure and unselfish. A great deal of love is required.''

Harry choked.

''However, I must warn you that this explanation may very well be wrong,'' Dumbledore said loudly as Harry spluttered and coughed. ''...It is merely a theory.''

Snape's posture become further rigid as Harry voiced his disgust, his hands clenching painfully hard onto the work surface, his back to them.

At the same time, Harry tried to ignore Snape's own blatant distaste with the term, as he spluttered his own incomprehension. He understood now only too well why Snape would have difficulty accepting this idea.

''_Love_? But I don't-''

''Not yet perhaps, but there is potential,'' Dumbledore said gently. ''It was this possibility, fuelled by all the emotion you held in that moment, that brought Severus to you. The love of a guardian, Harry, is a very strong-''

''Enough, Albus,'' Snape's voice held a threat, though he still did not turn around. ''Do not fill the boy's mind with more hopeless nonsense.''

Dumbledore eyed the man sadly for a moment, before turning back to Harry.

''This spell knows nothing of time or place,'' he explained, regardless of Snape's plea. ''I am not attempting to force anything upon you, Harry, not at all, but this, I believe, is the explanation for Severus' spontaneous arrival last night. Such a strong combination of both love and power, in this form, is not something I have seen in many years, I confess. Usually, the members involved are family, sharing the same blood, by you... You and Severus are-''

''Very much unrelated,'' Snape finished for him. ''That is enough, Albus.''

The authority behind Snape's instruction was not something Harry had ever heard directed towards the headmaster before, and it unnerved him. He knew this must be a serious matter if Snape were taking it as such

Bravely ignoring his mentor, Harry chanced voicing another question before the subject was closed for good. He knew better than to ask how Dumbledore could be so certain, after he knew, better than anyone, about their bleak history, but the possibilities that lay with this type of power were too fascinating to ignore.

''So, saying I could actually do this...apparating thing...'' he frowned and, with a nod of encouragement from Dumbledore, ploughed on uncertainly, ''I could call anyone I wanted? Whenever I wanted? And they would just appear?''

Dumbledore shook his head regretfully. ''I think not. What you achieved, Harry was extremely rare...''

Snape avoided Harry's eyes at all costs, tuning out from their conversation tactfully. He'd heard it before after all, and it seemed no more likely to be true now, than it had the first time. The old man had to stick his nosey brain into everything. Dumbledore had no right to influence their relationship, and Snape would not have the boy pressured into depending on him, when love, in all its reckless stupidity, was entirely out of the question.

For himself and Harry, he wanted a solid understanding, with borders and limitations. Love had none of those. He'd no intention to allow his emotions to run that far astray. He'd been the fool of unrequited love once before, admittedly his desires then had been very different, but he had no intention to face such humiliation and defeat again. He would not be rejected as a friend and guardian, as he had a lover. He had his pride and intended to keep it.

For all their talk of patience and 'come what may', the headmaster was ruining his and Harry's carefully controlled space. They'd worked hard to get this far. Snape would not allow the one good thing in his life to crumble away before his very eyes, because of one man's foolish intervention.

Besides, no one could ever love him, and certainly not Harry, so full of good and love worthy of someone far more valiant than he could ever be.

The very thought that Harry could be like… his charge, for life, was something that Snape could not, and would not consider, as it made his head spin and his stomach ache with unidentifiable emotion.

When the conversation dulled into soft silence, Snape glanced over his shoulder. Predictably, Harry had turned pale. The boy looked positively mortified. Though he felt similar, Snape felt a small part inside of him shrivel against the rejection of such an idea.

Dumbledore caught his eye, an explanation on his lips for his behaviour, but Snape merely deepened his scowl and boiled the kettle for the second time.

Dumbledore sighed, questioning his own line of reasoning. He'd meant to create positive response by supplying such optimism and confidence in their friendship, but it seemed he'd only succeeded in making Harry awkward and Snape angry.

He was well aware, after his last brief visit, that Harry and Snape were finally beginning to bond, and he'd no desire to pressure them, but they both needed to acknowledge soundly, that the paths they had set themselves upon was inevitable. Unless they realised the implications of such a close relationship, they were both going to be hurt very badly at the end of the summer.

Harry wasn't sure quite how to feel. He'd never considered that he could ever love Snape as such… He loved Sirius, that was easy to identify, but Snape was a hard man even to _like_. He'd certainly wanted him back pretty bad last night, and if the spell determined that his emotions were that intense, then he'd accept it as a distant possibility in some other reality. It wasn't entirely impossible, yet he couldn't help feeling hostile towards the headmaster for even suggesting such a thing.

It all sounded too much like divination for his liking. He still didn't entirely trust the headmaster. He once would have accepted his verdict without suspicion, but now he wasn't so sure that there wasn't a vested interest behind this revelation. Dumbledore was going to ruin everything. The last thing Harry wanted was for Snape to get freaked out and push him away.

''I do not mean to make either of you uncomfortable,'' Dumbledore said finally, deeply apologetic. ''But people do not just disappear without a means by which to draw them. Forgive me.''

When he was met only with stony glances, he sighed and wisely changed the topic of conversation. ''Regardless, there needs to be a plan of action enforced for you to reclaim this wand of yours, Severus-''

''What?'' Harry spluttered, his embarrassment and confusion dissipating as it was replaced with shock and outrage. ''He can't go back!''

Harry only realised he'd contradicted his own thoughts, that said he could probably never love Snape, with the clear, heart stopping concern in his voice. He cleared his throat and controlled himself, faltering under the gazes of both men, as they turned towards him in surprise.

Harry tightened his jaw, determined to be heard. Snape had almost died before. Harry wasn't about to let it happen again for such trivial reason.

''Sir,'' he turned away from Dumbledore's twinkling, damn knowing eyes furiously, and pleaded with his mentor. ''Professor Snape, you _can't_-''

''What I do, or do not do, is hardly for you to question is it, Potter?'' Snape spun round and fixed him with a glare.

For one dreadful moment, Harry thought Dumbledore had pushed them all the way back to square one, and Snape was going to throw up all his defences, but, after a tense moment, Snape leaned back against the counter with a deep sigh. His glaring face smoothed over with resignation.

He ran a hand through his greasy hair and muttered wearily, his hands straying absently to his hip, where the bite had been, ''I have no choice.''

''No.'' Harry stood up determinedly. He moved to stand in front of his mentor, an odd mixture of anger and possessiveness making him act impulsively.

''I cannot function without a wand,'' Snape said blandly, as though it was common logic.

''Yes, you can,'' Harry argued, ''you're human, aren't you? Muggles do it all the time.''

Snape eyed Harry warily as the boy stared imploringly up at him, begging him to see sense. The hardest part of resisting was that he knew every reasoning that Harry would come up with was completely right. It would be stupid to go back, exceedingly so, after Voldemort's outrage, but his life was one dangerous stunt after another. It was just the way his job worked. The boy would have to be drawn from his naivety sooner or later, even if he did come through it kicking and screaming.

''If you go back, he'll kill you,'' Harry explained, as though Snape could not possibly have considered this before he said yes. ''It's suicide.''

When the recognition failed to spring into the man's eyes, Harry stepped closer, frowning stubbornly, but Snape only crossed his arms over his chest, defensively, and shook his head. ''No, Potter, he will not. I am his spy within the Order. I am far too precious-''

''That's why he set a flippin' great big snake on you last time, is it?'' Harry cried. ''Come on. You. Could. Have. _Died_.''

''Harry...'' Dumbledore said gently, but Harry barely heard him. He could not understand why Snape wasn't taking this more seriously, and would even consider going back after what had happened.

''Fine. Then I'll go with you,'' Harry declared, but he'd barely got a word out before a sharp, rasping, 'No,' had filled his ears. Snape had filled the gap between them and was staring down at him, eyes blazing.

''No, Potter,'' he repeated firmly, with such strong emotion that Harry was quite scared for a moment. ''You are not to be reckless. If you even-''

''Then don't _you_ be. You're such a hypocrite-''

''Boys,'' Dumbledore attempted to calm them, but it appeared they were too carried away to hear him. He sighed. Far from arguing due to their previous fiery indifferences, they were succumbing to both fear and anger, when what they both wanted was not so different. It was only their short tempers and blindness that hid the truth from them. They both seemed to be missing the point that the others safety was obviously the first thing on their mind, not selfishness and recklessness.

''Don't you care for your life at all?'' Harry whispered incredulously.

Snape was momentary unhinged by the pure and utter desperation in Harry's eyes. The boy really was scared for him. He fought a sudden, unexpected lump in his throat and did something he rarely ever did. He put himself in Harry's shoes. It took only a moment and he felt his anger dwindle into nothingness, as the boy's desperation suddenly made much more sense. Harry was right. He had no right to be so reckless with his life, not when there was someone out there who actually cared, on whatever level, about his sad existence and would miss his presence and tutoring when he was gone. Who would train the boy if he was to fall?

Snape's lip curled distastefully and he recoiled internally, as he remembered all the logical reasons why he should never have allowed the boy so close in the first place. It just made everything harder, just as it made an equal number of factors easier. Caring was not something he was used to, preferring indifference. He was not prepared for how exhausting such emotion could be.

However, even if he did recognise Harry's worthy plea, that did not mean he wouldn't go, but that he'd explain his reasoning in the way the boy could understand.

All Harry knew was that he couldn't lose Snape. It was imperative. This man was his anchor at the moment; the only one who made him feel calm and secure enough to face his fears, as he needed to. Harry could appear childish and insecure by begging, he didn't care if it gave him a chance to persuade the man against such a suicidal idea.

He'd known Snape's job was dangerous, but returning to Voldemort after he'd almost been murdered simply seemed wrong. Harry failed to see the sensibility in dying for no reason.

''There is risk each and every time I am called, Potter,'' Snape explained patiently, keeping his own emotions under check and trying equally as desperately to ignore the demanding presence of the headmaster. It would undoubtedly be the first time he'd seen him treat the boy with respect, and giving time to explanation, rather than simply ignoring his discomforts. He set himself a mental reminder to distinguish any sentimental rubbish the older man would derive from this when he was done.

''Now is no different.''

He held up a hand sharply when Harry tried to protest again.

''I am not fearless, nor am I a coward, Potter. I am not disregarding my mortality, as you assume, but merely partaking in a neccassary short-term act that will enable me security in the future. As I said, it is my job. It is nothing different than what I would expect-''

''It _is_,'' Harry insisted, hating the clenching feeling in his gut each time Snape spoke about his life this way and hating it. ''I didn't know then...But I do now. And I won't let you go.''

When he realised how ridiculously heart-felt this sounded, Harry added hastily, ''You're my teacher. I _need_ you.''

Snape laughed harshly, a cold, bitter sound that Harry did not at all like.

''And how exactly are you going to stop me, Potter? I assure you that childish whining will be ineffective.'' Frustrated, he nudged Harry back with the palm of his hand on his chest. ''It is my job to remain a death eater, just as it is yours to remain here. Safe. I cannot enable your security if I do not go, consider this if nothing else.''

Dumbledore watched the exchange carefully, relenting in his attempt to separate them. On reflection, it seemed as though Snape would achieve better in making the boy see sense, than he ever could. He forgot, at times, how much innocence still remained within Harry. There was more emotion in Snape's eyes than he'd seen for many years, and he'd never seen Harry so unsettled. The man really had got to him.

Harry had never had a father figure before Sirius. His reaction to coming to terms with someone he regarded as a protector of his own safety, being in such a dangerous situation, was understandable. Snape decision to take the time to explain to Harry the reason behind his decision, was surprising, but the man seemed determined.

''May I make a suggestion?'' Dumbledore cut in eventually. It seemed their bickering, even if fuelled by concern rather than hate, would never cease. Snape had done his piece, it was now his turn to tie up the loose ends and set this plan into motion. ''Harry, please come and sit down. Severus, how about that coffee?''

With one last scathing look at Snape, Harry obeyed, flopping down into his chair dejectedly.

''I do not believe, after all that you have told me, Severus, that Lord Voldemort signed your death warrant last night. He would have expected you to survive, one way or another. He is aware that you are a master of potions. However, if he did indeed take your wand, as I believe you may suspect, he will be suspicious of your disappearance.''

''Side-along-apparation would not be a difficult lie to fabricate. Many of us fled the scene. I could have returned with any of my...allies, and lived to tell the tale while they did not,'' Snape spoke solemnly, ignoring the uncertainty that had begun to pool in his gut as Harry forced the situation to be problematic, when he'd longed to disregard his own worth of life, as usual.

The boy was making him fearful, and that was something he avoided at all costs. He'd been unprepared for the tide of concern that the boy had bombarded him with and, though it made him uncomfortable, such affection would force him to take a greater care of himself than he had been recently.

''He did not see you leave?'' Dumbledore asked seriously. ''Can you be sure, Severus?''

Snape placed three mugs on the table, nodding stiffly in agreement with Dumbledore while ignoring Harry's furious gaze. The boy would understand the reasons for his decision eventually.

''Though that still leaves us with a number of problems,'' Dumbledore continued. ''Your safety for one. If Voldemort calls you, of course you must go, but if you choose to re-enter his ranks before then, in search of your wand-''

''Quiet, Potter,'' Snape snapped absently, his eyes on Dumbledore, as Harry mumbled his protests. ''I…My wand is very important to me, Albus.''

''If you cannot go a short while without it-''

''It is not that. I could, very well. I merely...I fear I…'' He glanced in Harry's direction and Dumbledore followed his gaze, realisation dawning.

''Ah,'' he said. ''If that is your only concern, my friend, allow me to loan you a temporary wand. It will save-''

''I think not. My own wand will be the most effective,'' Snape insisted stubbornly, then added in a quieter tone, ''I do not trust the wards, Albus.''

Dumbledore sighed. ''Over-protection will aid no one, Severus. You are willing to risk your life in doing this, I cannot stop you. You are clueless as to the exact location of your wand, yet you are prepared to take this risk?''

Severus hesitated before nodding, his jaw painfully tight. Harry flew to his feet, unable to just sit by and allow this to happen. Even if this wasn't Snape, he was sure he'd still feel strongly adverse to this plan. It made no sense.

''You selfish bastard,'' he cried.

Snape's eyes widened in surprise as, all of a sudden, Harry was towering over him. ''I don't understand. Why would you-''

''To protect you, foolish boy,'' Snape snapped, glaring disapprovingly at Harry's over reaction. He he'd had enough. ''Without my own, rightful wand, I am incapable of exerting all capabilities to ensure that you are safe.''

Harry opened his mouth and closed it again. ''Oh…''

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled madly.

Snape snorted. ''Oh, indeed. Sit down, boy, you are giving me a headache.''

Harry did so numbly. For all Snape's criticism of recklessness and caution, he was being pretty stupid in returning to Voldemort's ranks, uncalled for, just to get a wand to protect _him_. Realisation dawned and Harry, once again, begun to feel guilty. People should not have to keep sacrificing for him.

''It's still stupid,'' Harry mumbled but no one heard him. Snape and Dumbledore were discussing their plans quietly. Harry got the distinct impression that they'd rather he wasn't there, but as neither said anything, he remained firmly seated, listening intently and processing all that he could understand.

''That is settled, Severus,'' Dumbledore concluded finally, though he looked rather reluctant. ''In 48 hours time, if you are still to be excluded from the ranks, you are to re-enter at your own risk and claim your wand.''

Snape nodded in understanding and, for the first time in a long while, looked hard at Harry. ''And the boy?''

''I'll be left here again? Alone?'' Harry guessed, resigned.

''Of course not,'' Dumbledore answered. ''If you have not noticed, Harry, your safety is of vital importance. You shall be at Headquarters where Sirius is waiting to spend some long awaited time with his godson.''

This thought did not feel Harry with delight as it once had. Instead, his eyes were firmly on Snape, trying to work out the guarded expression that had closed his face as Sirius's name was spoken.

''Do I have-?'' he attempted, but patience was wearing thin.

''None of this is negotiable, Potter,'' Snape silenced him. ''Accept it. Professor Dumbledore shall apparate you,'' he glanced at the headmaster, who nodded in confirmation, ''as I am without a wand, to Grimauld Place, two days from now. That evening, I shall reclaim my wand and reinstate myself as a spy.''

''Harry,'' Dumbledore sighed, as Harry remained reluctant. ''I am no more happy about this than you, but Professor Snape chose to remain a spy on the resurrection of Lord Voldemort. He knows what he is doing, risks included, and so do I. There is nothing you can do. He has more chance of regaining his position if he returns sooner, begging for mercy, than if he waits. I must ask you to trust us.''

Harry nodded unhappily and held back any further protests at this ridiculous plan, furious with Dumbledore for allowing it to happen. He was supposed to be responsible, but Harry understood, however regretfully, that the older man needed to take the chance. If Snape wasn't accepted back in Voldemort's inner circle, he would be without a spy.

''Finish your cereal,'' Snape grumbled finally into the following miserable silence, eyeing Harry's still half-full bowl critically. ''And then you can leave and do as you please.''

Harry sighed and reclaimed his spoon, trying to ignore how soggy his food had become in his neglect of it.

Dumbledore gradually got to his feet, unwilling but resigned to leaving them in such a glum atmosphere. ''Well, my boys, the ministry calls. I wish you all the best of luck. And, Harry, I shall see you again in-''

He came to an abrupt halt, as when he tugged his travelling cloak more tightly around himself, a small vial, full of misty liquid slipped out and dropped onto the table.

Snape froze when the object bumped into Harry's bowl, and rolled to a stop.

With a sudden, horrifying suspicion, Harry's folk cluttered loudly onto the table. He turned to Snape, accusingly.

''You told him?'' he groaned, eyes blazing in betrayal. He'd been prepared for Dumbledore to know more about his childhood, they'd discussed it, but to have his private memories depicted in real life images was _not_ what he'd agreed to. Snape had not kept his word.


	23. Confessions

''I did,'' Snape agreed, his tone cold and blunt.

Harry stared at his mentor furiously, noticing with extreme annoyance that the man was not even meeting his gaze, but staring down at his cup intently, as though the contents were far more important than discussing his broken promise.

''Why?'' Harry demanded softly. ''What gave you the right?''

Snape's hand tightened around his cup as he felt hostility from Harry roll towards him waves. He remained silent. There wasn't much that he was prepared to do until the boy calmed down and saw sense. He was not going to explain his actions in a rush, and allow himself to be propelled by a desperation to show the boy that he would never, not in his lifetime, betray him unless it was imperative.

Instead, he sat very still, with his jaw set firmly, silently reminding himself of the importance of his pride.

A hard lump formed in Harry's throat and he fought a wave of sudden dejection, as the true significance of Snape's betrayal and apparent indifference, sunk in. He knew it had been foolish to trust the man.

Awkward silence fell between the three of them, each set of eyes cast deliberately away from each other in fear of sparking further unrest.

Harry's initial reaction to his mentor's deceit came and went, becoming quickly replaced by grim acknowledgment. There was no point made to contradict the blatant conduct of disloyalty.

It wasn't until he brought up his gaze, with a resigned sigh, that he noticed a twitch in Snape's left eye that suggested he was not so indifferent on the matter. It was a subtly sign of anxiety Harry had learnt to read, but it only made Snape more guilty in his eyes, even if it did suggest the man was suitably uncomfortable.

Harry was about to demand further explanation when Dumbledore cleared his throat.

''Let us not voice accusations. What is done, is done and the fact of the matter is, I have viewed the memories of your past, Harry.''

Harry turned his glare on Dumbledore, upset that he hadn't been included in this decision. The pure unfairness of the situation stabbed at him, and he found all progress he may have made towards reconciliation with the headmaster fade into non-existence.

Dumbledore's sad, regretful expression did nothing to console Harry. He'd always known that he wouldn't be able to conceal the shadows from his past forever, and certainly not from this man, but Snape's betrayal of revealing his private thoughts had neutralised this rational thought.

''I had meant to have a long chat with you about this, Harry,'' Dumbledore continued softly, leaning forwards. ''But it seems, once again, that time has caught up with us before we were ready.''

Harry sighed heavily, forced to deal with the ugly situation that Snape had forced upon him. Casting his silent mentor a very dirty look, he took a deep breath and compressed his anger beneath the surface of his grim exterior.

''So, you saw…everything?''

''Severus has shown me all that he needed to in order to portray your ill-upbringing. He has banished my ignorance in the matter. I only wish that you had done so sooner, my boy.''

Harry looked away before the lump in his throat could rise in a natural response to the gentleness and extreme sadness on Dumbledore's face. He felt his heart speed and, in an unconscious gesture, gripped his own mug in his sweaty hands and lowered his head, beginning to tremble.

He was not ready for this. He was too tired and doused on his normal fire and energy, that he couldn't shout and rage at Dumbledore like he wanted to. He was at the mercy of his more uncontrollable emotions.

''And?'' he mumbled, dispising his own vulnerability. ''It doesn't matter anymore-''

''Quite the contrary, Harry. It matters very much,'' Dumbledore said sternly, a sudden flash of anger in his eyes.

Snape flicked his gaze to Dumbledore, watching the older man carefully, a calculating look on his face.

''You relatives will never be brought to justice over their actions, but I believe they have been somewhat subdued…and brought to their senses-''

''You mean…You've been to see them?'' Harry asked, disbelieving. His shaking was taken to greater levels. He ripped his hands under the table before either of the men could see the nervous response for what it was.

''You didn't…You can't have done…''

Harry's leg joined in the twitching of his entire frame, but he ignored it determinedly. This became harder as Dumbledore's eyes started to bore into his very soul with a burning, searching look that always made Harry so uncomfortable. Speaking with Dumbledore about this miserable, scarring episode would be just as difficult as it had been with Snape, if not more so.

''There was no need for you to do that,'' Harry frowned, sounding much weaker than he would've liked. ''I'll be in even more trouble now.''

A cold hand gripped his own firmly, distilling its erratic movements where it shook on his lap. Harry felt his face grow wet, humiliatingly, as he turned towards Snape. Though Harry attempted a very watery glare, Snape did not remove his hand.

Harry himself made no move to release himself, far too comforted by the small gesture to dislodge it. Snape's eyes burned into his, both empathetic and knowing in their usual concealment of a much greater emotion.

''Calm down,'' he said quietly, his dry hand cooling Harry's sweaty, clammy ones where they struggled to continue wringing in his lap.

Harry's remaining anger slipped, as much as he desperately tried to retain it in order to seek some sort of justice for himself. He knew, in that moment, as much as it antagonised him, that he would, despite all his protests, forgive his mentor with haste that he could not supply to Dumbledore.

Snape had, unwittingly, buried himself into such a deep, unyielding position in Harry's heart and it would take a far greater lie to successfully remove him. Harry needed him too much. He needed this unique comfort only Snape could give.

Dumbledore's kind, indulging, fatherly attitude was not a form of aid Harry wanted or needed anymore. Snape had the power to calm him, simply with a look.

''Harry...'' Dumbledore repeated, reaching his own hand across the table. Harry suddenly realised that the older man could not see what Snape had done. His mentor's fingers twitched under his own, and Harry could tell, by the passive detachment of his own expression that Snape was still unsure of how his gesture had been received.

Harry twisted his own fingers more deliberately around Snape's, preventing him from moving.

Snape complied with the silent approval, relaxing his hand and turning his own gaze back onto the headmaster, sat across the opposite side of the table. He attempted to convey as much encouragement and support as he could through the small contact with Harry. The boy would undoubtedly curse him later for allowing him to feel childish by admitting to needing such support, but the boy had accepted his impulsive gesture.

Snape felt far too needed himself to abandon it. He was more than happy to deliver this comfort, if it meant that the constriction in his chest at Harry's accusing, badly hurt expression would ease.

Their agreement was something he treasured, despite its danger. Harry's hostility towards him had returned previous memories of their years of fighting that he'd no desire to re-live.

''You haven't...'' Harry argued, refusing to believe the headmaster's claim.

''Why ever not?'' Dumbledore was grave. He withdrew his own wrinkled hand with disappointment. ''I could not leave the matter unseen to, Harry. I am sorry if the idea of my interference upsets you. It did Severus also.''

Harry glanced briefly at Snape, bewildered.

''Oh, yes,'' Dumbledore nodded. ''If I had not acted, your mentor certainly would have done. The effects then would have been far less lenient than my own punishments.''

''What did you do to them?'' Harry whispered, half-scared, half-hopeful.

''Yes, pray tell, Albus. What did you do?'' Snape asked curiously from beside Harry.

''Nothing untoward, though I suspect you both would have wished it.'' Dumbledore gave a small, grim smile. ''I merely made them see the errors of their ways. I was in no way trying to justify my own unintentional part in this…undesired happenings, Harry, believe me. I dealt with the situation far too late and for that I cannot allow you to forgive me. Trust me, you shall not be returning there. I will consider other forms of protection for next summer.''

''I'm not going back there?'' Harry hardly dared to believe it. He almost laughed out manically as Dumbledore nodded his confirmation, deadly serious.

''But where will I live?'' Harry asked, overcome with the possibilities. ''Grimauld Place?''

Harry felt Snape stiffen beside him, and for a moment he thought that he would remove his hand, but a moment later the impulse passed, and the man relaxed.

''That is yet to be arranged, Harry,'' Dumbledore explained gently. ''Now, forgive me for this, Harry, but a discussion is in order. Severus, if you don't mind, I believe Harry and I must continue this conversation in private.''

It didn't take the deathly squeeze on his fingers for Snape to acknowledge that the boy was adverse to this idea. He winced, throwing a mildly disapproving glance in Harry's direction before he gazed steadily across at the headmaster in confident defiance.

''I do not think so, Albus. I shall stay.''

Dumbledore looked as though he very much wanted to argue. Snape's influence over the boy was becoming more profound each day, and though, to a great extent, it was a good thing, he did not want Harry to become too dependent. He very much wanted to reinitiate their close relationship that he had so foolishly disregarded recently, and was reluctant to allow Snape to remain seated, for uncharacteristically selfish reasons, in order to give himself the best chance of success.

The look on Harry's face, however, told him otherwise, and he reluctantly inclined his head in agreement.

They discussed the matter for far longer than Harry liked and felt they needed to, but the weight that was lifted from his shoulders as the matter drew to a close was reward enough for his patience. It had not been as hard as he'd predicted to re-open old wounds and display them to an audience once more, but he expected that was something to do with the solid figure at his side.

Harry let out a shaky breath as Dumbledore finally brought the conversation to a close. He looked tired, but satisfied, and obviously felt somewhat closer to reconciliation. Harry watched the headmaster rise to his feet and knew that, despite his words, the older man desperately needed to hear that he was forgiven. The torture of what he had done, was a burden that could only be made bearable by Harry's pardon.

The man looked deeply pained and almost broken as he gazed at Harry, his eyes squinted and watery, as if his shame made it hard to do so. They looked at each other for a long moment, before Harry blinked and averted his eyes.

''Good bye, sir,'' he said finally. He could not, try as he might, bring himself to say it. Perhaps one day, but not today.

Dumbledore opened his mouth, but for once, there was nothing else for him to say. With a nod and small, half smile of acceptance, he took a deep unsteady breath.

''Until Friday then,'' he said softly, turning sharply and disappearing on the spot and Harry felt both shame and relief, flood him at once.

Silence stretched into the next few minutes, as Harry and Snape stared at the place where Dumbledore had disappeared, mulling over the events of the last half hour.

Harry sharply pulled his hand from Snape's relaxed grip, moving his gaze to the floor.

Finally, with a scrape of his chair, Snape gathered their mugs and carried them to the sink.

Harry stared at his retreating back, watching his every movement with a small frown.

''What is it, Potter?'' Snape asked finally, unable to contend with the boy's scathing, calculating glances any longer.

''Don't act like you don't know,'' Harry sighed. ''Please. I asked you not to tell him.''

''So you did,'' Snape replied, without missing a beat. He folded his arms, settling back against the counter and fixing his student with his calm, dark gaze. ''And I did not for many weeks, despite endless opportunities. However, the time came when the abuse of your past could no longer be kept a secret-''

''Don't make excuses-''

''I do not intend to,'' Snape argued impatiently. ''This whining isn't necessary. I am attempting to explain-''

''Well go on then, I'm listening,'' Harry challenged, obviously disbelieving that anything Snape had to say would make up for what he'd done.

Snape stared at him for a long, unnerving minute before spoke quietly. ''Do you honestly believe that you could, Potter, indefinitely conceal such a despicable childhood from the greatest wizard of our time?''

''Well, I managed so far,'' Harry replied stubbornly.

''True,'' Snape inclined his head in reluctant agreement, ''but your acts of subtlety are not so inept that you could provide any sort of consistence in the matter.''

Harry sighed, annoyed with Snape for being so calm and controlled. It made it so hard for him to shout and rant, and generally behave in an outraged, stubborn manner that he was more inclined towards. ''I know he would have found out sooner or later, I know that. I just-''

''Precisely,'' Snape hissed, moving forwards impulsively and laying his palms on the table. He brought his face close to Harry's and narrowed his eyes. ''Repeat that, Potter.''

''What?''

''Your last sentence. Repeat it.''

''I- I said that he would have found out eventually, but, sir-''

''You have resolved your own argument, Potter,'' Snape declared, straightening up and returning to the sink. ''I merely accelerated the process, and brought the matter to the attention of those in authority.''

When Harry remained glum, Snape sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he turned round to face the teen fully. ''Spare me this, Potter, and explain the true horrors of my actions, as I myself fail to see them. You cannot have wished for the headmaster to remain ignorant indefinitely.''

''No,'' Harry agreed slowly. ''But I wasn't_ ready_. That wasn't fair-''

''I am not a fair man, Potter.'' Snape sounded bored now and Harry relented to the man's selective and deliberate ignorance of other people's feelings when it suited his own purpose. What was done, was done, anyway. He couldn't control the man's actions any more than he could the weather.

Besides, it did feel good to no longer have that particular burden hanging over him. No more Dursley's.

Harry jumped when Snape appeared right in front of him, a dirty cup in his hand. He stared at the boy for a long moment before drawing up a chair opposite him and sitting back down, determinedly, showing a remarkable amount of patience.

Harry obediently turned to face him in return. He should have known Snape would not leave this matter open, without resolve. It was a strange habit of the man's to ensure that he was completely understanding of such serious matters.

''I was forced to alert the headmaster to your…past,'' he explained more carefully. ''Comprehend this, Potter, I would not have done it had there been another, more suitable option. As much as you may doubt it, I have no desire...to hurt you. My decision to break my vow was a necessary component in my campaign to care for you myself. It was not a decision I made lightly, by any means.''

''Wait...You campaigned? For me?'' Harry frowned, distracted. ''To keep me here?''

Snape's eyes narrowed marginally and Harry thought he saw a subtle wince briefly crease the corners of the man's eyes. ''No. Of course not,'' Snape replied smoothly. ''Campaigned is... an inaccurate description of my actions. I merely showed preference that you were to remain continue your training, where possible. Within the memories I gave to the headmaster were varies methods of cure. He did not believe that your illness was related to…psychological unrest - Do not argue, it is only a technical term - I believe now that he is persuaded and has granted me permission to attempt a cure to these also.''

''Oh yeah…I'd forgotten about that. The talking thing… '' Harry remembered miserably, his anger towards Snape dissipating remarkably quickly as he realized his motives had not been entirely selfish and unthoughtful. Snape had just had the courage to do what he could not.

Only Snape, as unique in his care of Harry as he was, would have been able to perform such an act, and as Harry respected him very much, his anger dwindled along with his resentment. He'd chosen to stay here. He was at the mercy of Snape's guardianship for the time being, and therefore, his decisions.

He wondered whether the Dursley's really had learnt their lesson. He doubted it.

''Indeed. However, for the meantime, it has been requested that we postpone any strenuous activity until you have recovered completely from the physical symptoms of sickness, Potter. And myself also, if all goes well with regard to the Dark Lord. And my wand.''

''So what are we supposed to do now then?'' Harry frowned, suddenly restless at the thought of sitting around for two whole days and simply waiting for Snape to embark on his ridiculously dangerous mission. ''Just wait?''

''You have homework to do, do you not? Not to mention an attempt to reclaim your magical abilities.''

''Wouldn't that count as strenuous activity?''

Snape sighed. ''Perhaps. Just read a book, Potter, Merlin knows I've given you enough.''

''What are you going to do?''

''What does that matter?'' Snape asked suspiciously, standing up and gliding back to the sink where he began to clear up their mess, in the muggle way, as they were without magic.

Harry shrugged, following and obediently taking the drying up cloth Snape handed him. ''I was just wondering…''

''You wonder far too much,'' Snape criticized lightly. ''It is not healthy.''

Harry chuckled, far more relaxed now that Dumbledore had gone and in a relatively decent mood with the thought of a few more days rest with just his mentor for company, and no more probing questions from the headmaster.

He would not think of Snape's departure for the darkness of Voldemort's ranks now. It would only upset and disturb him. Besides, he needed a level head in order to figure a way to persuade his mentor against the absurd idea.

Snape looked at him sideways, half-smiling as he actually managed to make the boy laugh. It was a rare occurrence but something he found wanting to do more. The relaxed atmosphere between himself and the boy, away from the pressures of training and heated conversation, was something he appreciated, very much.

A healthy Harry would undoubtedly be more challenging, but Snape was fully prepared to rise to the occasion, exhausted from both the mental and physical stresses that had ensued with his nurse role. He felt secure in the knowledge that their strengthening understanding would see them through the majority of their former disputes.

As much as he cringed to admit it, Snape was quite looking forward to the next few days, without any particular arduous task of which to attend. If he was to be murdered by Voldemort, on the spot, in two days time, being in the presence of the boy was hardly a waste of his final hours.

Comfortable silence encompassed them for a few minutes before Snape finally answered Harry's brave query.

''I am going to replenish my potions stocks.''

Harry nodded, unsurprised. He felt strangely calm, despite his earlier rollercoaster of emotions and quite content to simply wash up, basking in the simplicity of it. He had never been so satisfied just to clean before. At the Dursley's it was a chore, but here it was a chance to see Snape unwind a little and actually do something so domestic that it was almost unreal.

Harry's eyes kept being drawn to the man's bony elbows where he'd rolled up his sleeves. His arms were covered in soapy bubbles. He'd never considered Snape to have elbows as such, in a weird way, as they were always hidden by such thick black material. With the more the man was becoming understandable to him, the more Harry was discovering these little intriguing facts that connected the man further with humanity.

''Careful, Potter,'' Snape chastised as the plate he handed Harry wobbled dangerously.

''Sorry, sir,'' Harry said, wondering again at the lack of brutal verbal attack on his person that usually would have followed such a simple mistake. Their attitude towards each other was transgressing so fast now that he was finding it hard to keep up.

Snape looked so relaxed now, as though shouting at him with insults had not even crossed his mind.

''Potter, watch what you are doing!''

Harry jumped, clinging to a slippery plate by his fingertips. Perhaps, Snape's temper and tolerance did have strict limits, even if they were to be administered without any particular malice. One thing was for sure, he was going to find them out.

When they'd finished, Snape raised an eyebrow at him and asked, as though he truly was interested, what productive means he would use to pass the day.

''I don't know,'' Harry answered honestly, wishing he'd had something far more intellectual to say. It was weird. He'd never cared what Snape had thought of him before, but now the man had respect for him, it made him more conscious of all that he did.

He watched Snape nervously through his fringe, though for an entirely different reason than he ever had before. Snape ignored his apprehension and prodded for an adequate response.

''Homework maybe,'' Harry attempted. ''I don't know. Maybe I will read... or write a letter or something.''

Exasperation was creeping into Snape's expression but he settled for boredom. ''Well, enjoy your indecision, Potter. I shall be in the lab if you need anything.''

With that, he turned sharply on his heel, his stride long and purposeful, as he disappeared through a side door. Making a split second decision, Harry took a deep breath and followed. Snape's form was just recognisable against the dimness of the corridor.

''What are you doing?'' Snape turned back abruptly, raising an eyebrow in suspicion. ''You cannot possibly be lost-''

''You said I could do as I pleased. I want to help you,'' Harry said hopefully, knowing he was being reckless but wanting now, more than ever, to push the boundaries between them. If he did so, perhaps Snape would not be so keen to betray his trust again, selfishly or not, and Harry would find out more about the fascinating man in return.

Regardless, he needed time to convince him to stay away from Voldemort.

Snape snorted. ''I find that hard to believe.''

Harry shrugged, unrelenting. Snape sighed and lowered his head and his voice, as though he were speaking to a small child. ''I shall be brewing, Potter. Do you honestly think you can handle it?''

Harry cringed for a moment. The man's breath was not exactly fresh but nothing about him ever was. Brushing this distasteful thought aside, Harry nodded keenly.

For a moment, Harry thought he was going to be refused, but after eyeing him critically for a few moments, Snape nodded curtly. ''As you wish.''

Harry smiled in thanks but Snape merely shook his head, wondering silently as to what had made him relent to such a decision. If he were honest, having Harry with him made the whole ordeal of re-creating all of the potions he'd so mindlessly destroyed seem a much less arduous task.

He was sure the boy would soon regret it, however, as he used the opportunity to brush up his potions skills.

They walked silently, side by side, until they reached the end of the corridor. A small narrow staircase presented itself to their left.

''Careful, Potter. It is steep,'' Snape warned, peering down the tunnel-like gap with a calculating expression.

Intrigued, Harry leant closer. ''I'm not that clumsy, sir,'' he argued, determined to prove now that he was not childish, as it suddenly mattered very much that Snape thought him mature.

Taking the first step, Harry misjudged the distance and almost tripped until a hand on the scruff of his neck pulled him back roughly.

Harry's face burned scarlet as he stumbled. He refused to acknowledge Snape's dark chuckling. The rich tone was unlike anything Harry had ever heard before.

Snape appeared much closer to his actual age with the brief lightening of his expression and Harry felt honoured, despite his embarrassment, that he had caused such a reaction, whether it be at his expense or not.

''Perhaps a little more caution should be adopted on the second attempt,'' Snape advised, humour in his voice. It was a show of how much his opinion of Harry had changed, that he did not make a comment on, what could be perceived as arrogance, that had led to the accident.

Frowning, Harry tried again with success. His nerves, however, were at their highest and as the narrow gap twisted round in the dark, and there was no sound to be heard but their own steady breathing, he shivered in apprehension, his arms enflaming with goosebumps.

''We can turn back if you wish, Potter,'' a knowing voice whispered beside his ear.

''No,'' Harry replied determinedly as he looked over his shoulder, taking in a double meaning to Snape's words, whether the man meant to imply it or not.

He was unable to make out his mentor's face properly in the darkness, but some of his own nervousness must have been conveyed somehow, as a few minutes later, a warm, supporting hand was rested on his shoulder and he was guided more securely down the stairs.

He turned round briefly to offer Snape a warm, grateful smile, just visible in the dim light, and could have sworn he received a tiny, contented one in return.


	24. Replenishing Potions

----

''Roll up your sleeves, empty your pockets and take off your shoes.''

''Take off my-''

''Shoes, Potter. Now.''

Extracting his own boots, Snape fiddled with the many buttons of his outer robe, before slipping it from his shoulders in order to replace it with a largely stained white alternative.

Uncertainly, Harry padded across the marble floor barefoot, squeezing himself inside the small closet and placing his trainers on a rack beside his mentor's.

Snape tilted his head towards him, shifting himself further into the corner to accommodate for Harry's presence in such a limited space. ''Your robe,'' he requested.

''I didn't know the Manor had a room as small as this,'' Harry commented lightly, as Snape plucked his robe from his fingers and hung it on a peg.

Snape inclined his head in agreement. ''It seems my ancestors did not allocate much space to storage. I believe they preferred to impress visually, rather than dust away the corners and use the property to their full advantage, '' he muttered darkly. ''This room will have to suffice for now.''

Purposefully preventing Harry from responding to such a personal reflection, Snape placed his bony fingers on the boy's shoulders and turned him full circle. His eyes swept the length of Harry's body, assessing his height.

With a thoughtful murmur, he selected the appropriate size cloak from the closet and handed it over.

''Er... thanks,'' Harry replied uncertainly, slipping his arms into the rough material and following Snape's beckoning into a larger, colder part of the basement.

The tunnel they traced widened, with extra light heating the air on each side from large, stone brackets of flame. A repetitive drip echoed around them, reminding Harry unpleasantly of the dungeons at Hogwarts.

Shivering in anticipation, Harry kept close to Snape's heel.

''Why no shoes?'' he asked to Snape's back, purely to fill the silence, and heard the man give a soft snort.

''You would not understand,'' he answered shortly, and said no more on the matter.

There was no doorway that prepared Harry for the main part of Snape's extensive potion workroom. They merely rounded a corner, and there, for further than he could see without stretching onto his toes, was more cauldrons that he could count, filling the circular room with its uncountable mass of pewter.

Before Harry could utter a word, Snape had pointed him towards a stall in the corner and disappeared into a separate storage space.

Harry swallowed back a string of wondrous comments as he perched on the edge of his seat, absorbing his surroundings with wide, appreciative eyes. Cauldrons of every shape and size closed him in, misting the cold air with their various strange smells, flames and spitting bubbles. Potions lines the walls, along with an assortment of ingredients and weird creatures that Harry knew better than to touch.

He watched, in awe, as Snape returned, moving swiftly between each potion, as if he were gliding, cloak billowing behind them, tending to their needs with expert care and precision. Harry was quite content to sit as he was for some time. Snape had thoroughly preoccupied himself, and Harry knew better than to interrupt him or attempt to interfere.

It wasn't as though Harry hadn't seen Snape dedicate himself to such a task before, but somehow, in light of recent events, he was able to truly appreciate the fluidity of the man's gracious movements, and pure skill behind his work.

Eyes brightening in interest, Harry soaked up Snape's intense concentration with curiosity. He'd never been much interested in potions, being such an imprecise, messy person himself, but he felt as though his eyes had been widened to the beauty of the art, and he could better understand Snape's own rare passion with it.

''Close your mouth, Potter, or I may fall under the false assumption that you may be inspired by your surroundings,'' Snape said finally, as he made his way round to Harry's side of the room and lit the cauldrons nearest to him.

''But I am,'' Harry insisted, smiling contentedly. ''This is…magnificent.'' He extended his arms wildly for emphasis.

Snape snorted, casting his student a curious glance. ''Magnificent? Try complicated and extremely hazardous as more precise analogies, Potter. You have no idea of the potential danger of your current position.''

''Cool,'' Harry breathed, peering over Snape's shoulder to see what ingredients he was preparing.

Snape shot him a disapproving glance, causing Harry to shrink a little.

''Sorry, sir,'' he winced, before Snape could get him into a debate about why his safety was so important. ''I do appreciate that it can be dangerous, but you can feel it, can't you?''

''Feel what, Potter? Make yourself comprehensible or hush, boy,'' Snape muttered absently, stretching round a cauldron to alter its temperature.

''Feel... _it_. The potions. The smell, the way it consumes your senses... I thought- I always thought you loved potions, professor.''

''Oh, I do,'' Snape answered softly, as though there was no question of it, ''but I doubt very much that you are observing the same, intriguing mass of design as I am at this moment, Potter.'' Placing a firm hand on Harry's absently jerking knee, he stilled the boy's blindly swinging limb before calmly continuing. ''I mentioned in your first ever lesson, many years ago, that students would never appreciate the pure delicacy of potions work.''

Harry frowned, tucking his legs safely beneath him, confused but intrigued. ''Then teach me. I want to see what you see.''

''Potter,'' Snape sighed, bordering on exasperation, ''you are merely glancing at the surface of an extensive, outwardly stunning display of cauldrons. Beneath the exterior of such grandeur is far more time, sweat and patience than you have within you to give-''

''We have a whole two days,'' Harry argued. ''Teach me, professor.''

''Insufferable,'' Snape hissed, annoyed with his student's insistence. He'd never thought that simply bringing the boy into such an environment would cause such an effect.

However, Harry's patience and maturity so far was deserving of some reward. Harry was an engaging student to teach, but not one he'd envisioned truly appreciating the art of skilled potion making.

''You hate potions,'' Snape finally stated, bluntly. ''You've always made that quite clear.''

''No, I hate the way _you_ teach potions at Hogwarts,'' Harry responded immediately, without quite thinking.

He did not miss Snape's responding wince, even though he did not completely understand it. Surely the man understood he was disliked for his harsh, unforgiving style and prejudiced marking. After spending such time being tutored personally by the man, Harry knew Snape was much more capable of producing results than he'd always thought, but that did not excuse his attitude at Hogwarts.

Harry's first reaction to such foolishness was to backtrack hastily, but he quickly hit a brick wall. He didn't want Snape to think he was ungrateful, but his statement had been enturely honest, they both knew that. There was no reversal.

''Sorry, professor,'' Harry repeated earnestly. ''I just meant that-''

''Honesty is not a sin, Potter,'' Snape said curtly, adverting his eyes. ''Though, in future, keep such thoughts to yourself. I will not tolerate disrespect.''

''Yes, sir. Sor-''

''Pass me that vial. The one by your hand. Other hand, Potter. Thank you. Now, sit back down.''

Only the hissing and bubbling of cauldrons could be heard for the next few minutes, as Snape concocted a potion of complicated method of design.

''Come here, Potter,'' he said finally. ''You wanted to help, did you not? We shall see how long your enthusiasm lasts. I have been unfortunate enough to endure your abysmal potion skills in the past, but I have also witnessed your curious potential to learn, so I shall make a compromise.''

Harry nodded, fully buttoning up his borrowed robe and appearing attentive.

''You shall brew these,'' Snape informed him, handing over a crisp sheet of parchment, on which both sides had listed a dozen various mixtures. ''By all means take offense from my refusal to allow you within a whisper of the most complex. That would be these.'' He pointed to the furthest side of the room, where the mist hung most thickly. ''That is where I shall be. Stray, Potter, and I shall punish you without leniency.''

''Yes, professor,'' Harry answered, running his eyes over the list and feeling his anxiety grow. ''Hang on, these are healing balms....And this,'' he pointed, titling the sheet to show Snape, ''I've never even heard of.''

Snape sighed audibly, snatching back the sheet. ''If you are incapable...''

''No, I am,'' Harry argued, stretching up to reclaim the instructions but Snape held it out of his reach, a smirk on his face. ''I just... might need to do some research first.''

Mercifully, Snape eventually lowered his arm, appreciating that Harry was willing to admit ignorance and prove he needed help. The boy's habit of running into situations head first, with no idea how to proceed, was something he was adamant to challenge.

''Very well,'' he relented. ''Textbooks are through the door to your left. There is nothing on that list that you are incapable of brewing. If you develop any reasonable queries later on, and have done all in your power to continue unaided, then, and only then, shall I offer my own personal assiatance.''

''Generous,'' Harry muttered, without any real irritation. Snape's sarcasm must be rubbing off on him.

''Ingredients surround you on each wall,'' Snape explained, ignoring Harry's interruption. ''Take whatever you require. I ask you to treat them will care, and refrain from being too liberal in your measurements.''

Harry nodded in understanding, pushing his fringe from his eyes. He supposed brushing up on his brewing skills could only be a good thing. He could always attempt to engage Snape in conversation while they worked, if the man seemed agreeable of course. He was still very much learning the limits of Snape's tolerance, and would not betray what limited trust he had gained by fooling around with his supplies.

Snape pivoted on his heel and marched a few paces forwards. However, he turned before Harry's face had disappeared completely in a cloud of smoke and added, ''I need not express my…discomfort with allowing you, Potter, into such a personal space. My potions stores have, in the past, proved an irresistable attraction for your thieving mind. If anything is to go missing-''

''What?'' Harry protested, his stomach churning uncomfortably as he recalled his willingly deceitful behaviour towards the man in the past, before he'd come to respect him. Technically Harry hadn't stealed. Last time it had been Dobby, not him. And before, that was Hermione. If not entirely innocent, Harry was at least less guilty than Snape was proposing.

''I didn't…I would never…Sir, that wasn't me, I swear.''

''Hm,'' Snape responded, unconvinced. ''I have no doubt of your innocence, Potter.''

Harry ignored the sarcasm. He'd hoped Snape's increasing respect and confidence in his abilities would have altered the man's views on certain matters, but it seemed not.

The hurt on Harry's face was too poorly concealed for Snape to ignore it. With a sigh, he moved a little closer.

''I do not claim to…know you, to any considerable extent, Mr. Potter,'' he said quietly, a small frown on his face. Clearing his throat, he fought against the difficulty of forcing his mask to slip for a moment so that he could reveal some uncomfortable truths. ''My misconceptions have forced a certain…caution on my part when accessing your character. My accusations in the past-''

''Many of which have been false!'' Harry interjected stubbornly.

''…Indeed,'' Snape agreed reluctantly. ''However, not all prejudices are as reversible as…others.''

''What does that mean? You'll always have your suspicions? Never truly trust me?''

Snape shifted his shoulders marginally, unwilling to tie himself to any particular explanation. ''Perhaps. In simple terms, to my mind, you are a thief, Potter. That is my assumption. As much as I perhaps would…be likable to the idea of viewing you otherwise, I have yet to be convinced. I have yet to form an all round, accurate picture of you in my mind. Though I loathe to admit it, I find some aspects of your personality difficult to comprehend in their entirety.''

Harry stared at him for a moment, a frown on his face that clearly objected to Snape's reasoning.

''Fine,'' he said finally, obediently submitting to Snape's will, for fear of upsetting the man and being distanced from him once more. ''I'll just have to earn that trust.''

Snape's lips tugged into a small smirk, a challenging edge to his expression. ''Very well, Potter. See that you do.''

Left alone, Harry felt much more comfortable without Snape's looming presence.

''Right...'' he murmured, dropping his eyes from Snape's back and surveying the list in front of him with renewed confidence, refusing to get any part of it incorrect.

Harry worked tirelessly. Talking did not even come into it. Sweat dripped down his face, pooling at his collar and making the hair on the back of his neck sticky. He applied all of the concentration he could muster, and the benefits were practically revolutionary.

Snape glided over to him every once in a while, glanced at his progress, nodded shortly in approval, or else made minor alterations, and once more become a silent ghost beside his own cauldron.

Brewing proved a welcome distraction to all else that was currently transpiring in Harry's life. His fever could be forgotten, as could his training and Dumbledore. He could see now, Snape's satisfaction in losing oneself in the delicacy of the work.

''Professor... for a calming draft,'' Harry called across the smoke filled dungeons, wiping sweaty palms on his jeans, ''clockwise or anti-clockwise?''

''It's in the textbook, Potter,'' was Snape's unhelpful response. Harry could just make out the shadow of the man, his full figure blocked by various, colourful mists.

A few minutes of frustrated rustling through text, Snape appeared at Harry's elbow, reaching round him to flick the book effortlessly to the correct section. His pale finger drifted down the page to rest upon the appropriate method of stirring.

''Clockwise,'' he murmured, leaning back again and frowning disapprovingly. ''And this paste is far too thick. Add a little extra thinner.''

Harry obeyed silently, watching with gratification as his potion instantly became the correct consistency. He turned slightly to grin at Snape.

''Thanks, sir.''

Snape merely grunted, shifting aside to survey Harry's already completed and vialed potions. ''These are good,'' he muttered, clearly having expected far worse results. ''Very good, Potter. I am impressed. It seems that, isolated from the distraction of your friends, your potions skills prove almost adequate.''

''Well if you always taught like this, without actively discouraging progress, people may actually like potions and learn something. Including me.''

''That is the second time you have spoken of my teaching methods inappropriately, Potter,'' Snape reprimanded curtly, wondering why Harry had suddenly decided he was allowed to be so daring. ''Your cheek, lately, has been getting quite out of hand.''

Although he enjoyed light hearted conversation and relaxed atmosphere with the boy, he was all for a strict hierarchy, where his own authority was clearly visible. The boy would obey him. He was to have the last say in every situation. They were not friends. He was in charge. Easing up on Harry did not mean that obedience could lack.

Besides, currently, Snape was barely testing the waters. If a mutaual agreement between himself and the boy resulted in failure, a reinstatement of their old ways would be made, if that was the only way they could work.

''You don't think I have a point?'' Harry challenged, swallowing back nerves as he pressed at the walls of Snape's tolerance.

Snape eyed him shrewdly. Finally, he sighed, in no mood to work himself up into an anger over something so trivial. Of course the boy had a point, but it would never change anything. Snape only knew one way to teach, and that was through intimidation and fierce discipline. What he and Harry had developed through their one on one sessions could never be extended to a class of thirty rebellious teenagers. In order to treat a class in a civil manner, they had to earn their potion master's respect, and that was never given willingly unless the House in question happened to be Slytherin.

Harry relaxed marginally when Snape's features smoothed into that of calm.

Snape was far too content to witness Harry so enthusiastic and just simply healthy to bring him crashing back down to misery so suddenly. Harry had been nothing but a mumbling wreck for days, after all. His renewed character, proving both amusing and relentlessly irritating, was a welcome reminder that Harry, with health, was not entirely unpleasant company.

Much to his shame, Snape enjoyed their banter far too much to once again frighten the boy into eliminating it entirely.

''A valid point, Potter. I have taken it under consideration.''

Harry snorted. ''Liar.''

Snape merely smirked. ''Quiet now. You shall not alter my teaching methods. When you are of an age, and experience, I shall consider your opinions on my teaching. Before then, I shall only ridicule you for it. Now, stir a little harder and your potion shall be complete.''

Snape wandered off once again, and quickly became absorbed in his own work, appearing completely captivated and undistracted by his student's presence, gradually relaxing into giving Harry greater rein and checking on him less frequently.

In such an intense setting, with potions brewing all around him, and with such a sense of purpose, Harry found great satisfaction in his own work. Without the distraction of his school mates, and no grouchy professor barking threatening insults at him, he was able to work peacefully and develop his skills of patience and concentration in a way he'd been deprived of in the past.

He'd never be a master at potions, but with appropriate teaching, he'd get a decent grade. If Snape remained bearable, Harry would request that potions lessons became a regular occurance.

He was almost disappointed when Snape pressed a brief hand to his shoulder, set his potion in stasis, and ended the session.

The walk back up to the closet was silent. Harry went to hang his white cloak back among a dozen others, but Snape extracted it from his grip and hung it beside his own, separated and clearly visible. With a small smile, Harry hoped this meant he'd be welcome in the man's laboratory again.

''Do you wish to return to your room while I prepare dinner, or does your relentless stubbornness entail that you must act as though my shadow in this task also,'' Snape asked, turning to Harry as they reached the main part of the Manor.

Feeling a great relief as the claustrophobia of the basement vanished with the natural light of the house, Harry grinned up at Snape wryly.

''I could get on with some homework, I suppose,'' he shrugged. ''I don't want you to get sick of me.''

Harry felt himself redden slightly when he realised what he'd implied. Of course Snape would already be tired of him. The man had made such a thing evident time and time again.

''Your assistance with brewing was much appreciated,'' Snape replied, after allowing Harry to suffer for a long, awkward moment, a small, knowing smile curving his lips. ''However, I doubt there is much I could teach you in the confines of the kitchen. My cooking skills are hardly worth recognising in comparison to my... greater assets.''

''I don't know how to cook,'' Harry admitted, stuffing his hands into his pockets and eyeing Snape cautiously through his fringe. ''Well I can do eggs and stuff. My relatives taught me the basics. But actual meals ...I wouldn't have a clue.''

Snape, having visibly tensed as Harry mentioned his family, gave a thin smile. ''Then perhaps, on another occassion, I shall share my culinary knowledge.''

Harry grinned, overcome for a moment with a sudden shyness. ''That would be cool.''

Snape frowned at Harry's childish vocabulary, but made no comment. They looked at each other for a moment longer, before Harry awkwardly excused himself, wandering up to his room to catch up on his reading. He could feel Snape's gaze, hot on his back, until he turned the corner.

-----

''Is the cabbage not to your liking, Potter?'' Snape asked abruptly, frustrated with Harry's obvious lack of enthusiasm with the vegetable. ''If you are not planning on eating it-''

''No, sir, I am,'' Harry insisted. ''I just...'' He glanced at the soggy green mass and shrugged, unsuccessfully hiding a grimace.

''It is not a crime to be adverse to certain food products, Potter,'' Snape scowled. ''Simply leave it to the side, and next time, alert me to your preferences so that I can produce something that is fitting for both of us.''

Surprised at the generosity in Snape's offer, Harry nodded mutely. Snape's behaviour towards him was slowly becoming almost...considerate. Without feeling as though he was being verbally whipped at every corner made for a remarkable change, with Harry finally able to relax.

The man's sharp tongue could still cut him down in a matter of seconds, and frequently did so, but their was far less real malice in the scorn these days, and more genuine frustration and characteristic impatience that would always linger with the man.

Snape had certainly begun to emit a clear warmth, whether he knew it or not, that consumed Harry and made him feel nearly...wanted. Snape was being far more thoughtful with regard to Harry's personal comfort, which suggested, on some level, that he cared whether or not the boy was content.

Though Snape would never be a selfless, benevolent being, his effort to accommodate Harry more comfortably into his home, and his life, was a gesture that Harry took to heart, perhaps unwisely, and could appreciate unreservedly.

Perhaps the man was aware as he was of the impeding date that held his life in the balance. Harry wanted the next few days to be as peaceful as possible, with little unrest so that Snape would at least face Voldemort knowing that there was someone, even if it was only a teenage boy he'd only just begun to like, that cared for his survival.

Harry, strangely and most foolishly, had the profound desire to know Snape more. If he was to die, as seemed very likely, Harry wanted to know whether this man he'd come to tolerate, could actually be a decent human being.

''And carrots also...'' Snape muttered, dark eyes resting on Harry's neglected plate with a disaproving expression. ''I see there is a clear division occuring here, Potter. You have consumed more meat than I, yet your vegetables are untouched...''

''Are you going to make me eat my vegetables, sir?'' Harry grinned across the table at Snape.

Snape scowled. For some reason, a faint flush had appeared on his sallow cheeks with Harry's casual remark.

Harry's eyes narrowed curiously. It was as though the reminder that he'd not the authority to ask anything of Harry, outside of the classroom and with regard to his property, was one that made Snape restless.

''If I don't, will I still get pudding?'' Harry asked innocently, knowing full well that Snape would never stretch himself to making such a personal request, by proving that he had preference as to his student's diet.

Snape glared at the boy, irritated with his teasing, as the desire to take a more deliberate role in Harry's upringing had been creeping up on him since the boy's sickness. For Harry to treat the idea of him with that responsibility as though it were a mere joke, and would never be more, was one that ignited a few bitter truths within the potions master.

He cursed himself for entertaining such forbidden paternal thoughts, suddenly extremely anxious as he found himself wanting to discipline Harry, very much in the way a parent would. Not a teacher. Damn boy. He was spending far too much time with him for his own good.

''Eat what you like, Potter,'' he snapped finally, sitting in stony silence for the rest of the meal.

When dinner was completed, Harry silently stood to help his mentor with the dishes. After that, when Harry descended the stairs, with wet hair and wearing a pair of striped, faded pyjamas, he found a serene Snape reading quietly in the library.

Tentatively opening the door, he was met with a raised eyebrow.

Harry shuffled his feet nervously, beginning to shiver slightly with the relentless coldness that resided in every room of the manor after darkness, when the warm summer sun made way for night and the fireplaces stood empty.

When Harry failed to speak, Snape gave a small sigh. ''Do not loiter in the doorway, Potter. Enter, if you must. No noise. You can work quietly.''

Desperately desiring company, Harry gave a sigh of achievement when he received no instant rebuke for leaving the confines of his room. He spread his books out on the floor and began studying, burying his hands in his sleeves to retain a little warmth.

Snape equalled Harry's silence, a curious frown distracting him from his own book as Harry scribbled furiously on a peice of parchment, glancing up every now and then at a textbook he'd rested against the bookcase. Whoever would have thought he'd ever be comfortable with an utterly childish looking Potter, in his ridiculously large pyjamas, skinnier than ever after his illness and pale cheeked from exhaustion, sprawled out on his floor.

He had to admit, evenings were the times he dreaded most. Misery tended to set in more prominently when there was nothing to fill the silence. Even if there was only the scratching of Harry's quill on parchment, the pure presence of the boy and his willing companionship was enough to thaw Snape's aching lonliness.

The air between them still crackled with unspoken rejections. The comfort they had previously shared all day, while brewing, could not compete with the awkwardness had settled in once they'd nothing to distract themselves from each other's presence. There was no excuse for Harry to be in Snape's company now. His time was his own. There was no pretending that they were forced together, when the Manor was vast and both had chosen to reside in the same room, just a foot from each other.

Wisely, neither mentioned the lack of excuses of which they'd fabricated. If either were to comment on it, the spell would be broken as old prejudices would emerge, defensive and unwilling to expose emotion.

Stuck with a question, Harry automatically found himself looking up to his mentor in enquiry. He hadn't expected Snape to be watching him with such a deep expression....One that possibly held a thick layer of affection.

Closing his book with a sharp snap, Snape's gaze hardened. ''Yes, Potter?''

Harry swallowed, meeting Snape's eyes through the curtain of hair that fell limply around the man's face. ''I...Never mind.'' If Snape felt the need to revert to coldness to feel more comfortable, Harry wouldn't bother him with his problems. He was still learning the degree of the man's tolerance and had no desire to frustrate him.

Sometime during the evening, Snape rose from his chair and knelt beside the eternally empty fire by Harry's feet. With a few gentle prods and aid from Harry's wand, the fire came to life, burning gently and warming Harry through. He looked up at Snape's face but the man appeared once more keen to become drawn into his book.

However, when his eyes remained fixed on one point, clearly far from comprehending the words on the page, Harry realised Snape drew as much from the sentiment as he did.

Lighting a fire, when he'd promised, right from the start, that Harry would have to get used to the dark, represented more than the man would ever verbally communicate.

Stifling a yawn, Harry glanced at the clock and was surprised he'd been working for nearly two hours. And so close to Snape.

When he stood to return to his room, he hesitated before bidding Snape a quiet good night, turning back when the man unexpectedly requested that he glance over his work and make any significant suggestions.

''You should take advantage of residing with a teacher, Potter,'' Snape pointed out, running curious eyes over Harry's untidy handwriting. ''As always, if you have...reasonable quieries, or simly wish me to glance over your work- merlin knows you produce more grammatical errors than any student I've ever taught- I would...oblige you. Goodnight.''

Pleasantly surprised, Harry smiled warmly at Snape. The man appeared rather unnerved by the gesture, if not overwhelmed, before he impatiently shooed the boy to bed, an almost tender smile disrupting his impassive mask.


	25. Final Preparations

---

Harry stood rigidly at his bedroom window, gazing down at the garden beneath him with a pensive expression as he contemplated his own complicated feelings. He was leaving for Grimauld Place in less than a day. It was the exact chance of escape he'd been desperately hoping for since his arrival, yet he found himself strangely reluctant to leave the confines of Snape Manor. And especially in the current circumstances.

All that he'd suffered -- including bone deep exhaustion, sickening migraines and a dangerously escalating depression -- had only made him more adamant to remain exactly where he was. A great sense of unfulfilled business made the very thought of giving up, with so little reward, extremely uncomfortable. He had come a long way since his arrival, with regard to his general fitness in battle, but he'd yet to gain anything substantial to show for it. Though he still very much considered Snape's home a prison, Harry had learnt to take comfort in its familiarity and its promise to make him a worthy opponent of Voldemort.

Harry knew he'd be sorely disappointed if this was the end of the road for him and Snape.

''Potter?''

Harry jumped slightly at the interruption into his thoughts, but turned round to face his mentor quite calmly, if a little guiltily. ''Yeah, I'm in here.''

Snape's long fingers curled around the wooden frame and he pushed open the door wider. Taking a hesitant step inside, his eyes darted amongst Harry's belongings, where they were littered around the room haphazardly.

''I believe I told you to pack,'' he reprimanded lightly.

Harry sighed, not even bothering to hide his reluctance under Snape's perceptive gaze. He took a step away from the window and forced a weak shrug of apology. ''You know that I'd rather-''

''We can argue if you so wish,'' Snape cut him off, wandering forwards to flick absently through one of Harry's stray textbooks. ''But I would prefer you to cease playing the dramatic hero and follow my instructions.'' He jerked his wand vaguely in Harry's direction and the latches on the boy's trunk popped open.

Grumbling, Harry cast the man a dark glance. Snape's blatant refusal to discuss what he so needed to was beginning to irritate him. If Harry hadn't known any better, he would have said Snape's own resolve was threatened each time Harry dared to make such a confession because he knew he spoke the truth. Therefore, he stemmed any argument regarding Dumbledore's plan before it could take form, saving himself the trouble of summoning a counter argument worthy enough to compete.

Harry suspected Snape was as wary of returning to Voldemort, and as doubtful about his plan to locate his wand as both he and Dumbledore were. But the man would never let it show, nor entertain discussion, which made it increasingly hard for Harry to sway his decison.

Harry shook his head stubbornly, but obediently crossed the room and begun to empty his wardrobe.

''So, what's the plan for today?'' he asked wearily, when it seemed Snape made no immediate move to leave.

''I had hoped, if you are agreeable, that we would begin discussing these... insecurities in your past, so that during later training, occlumency would not again prove quite so disastrous,'' Snape answered slowly, apparently absorbed in his reading. Rifling through the ancient volume, he let out a soft snort.

''Absinthe,'' he murmured in response to Harry's questioning gaze, running a pale finger over the words and tilting the book so Harry could see. ''According to,'' he flipped the book to its front. ''Mr. Wilhelm Kratz, adding this substance to a simple Calming Draft enables the development of enormous strength to the consumer within mere moments.''

Harry frowned, imitating Snape's scepticism. ''Wouldn't it make the user blind? Or otherwise incapacitated, especially around vulnerable areas. Strong yeah, I bet it would make you pretty tough after frequent use, but with that mixture... It's dangerous, right?''

''Exactly,'' Snape confirmed, glancing down at Harry with barely concealed surprise. ''How did you know that?''

''You taught me well,'' Harry replied simply, moving away to continue packing.

Snape threw him an odd look, snapping the book shut. ''Flattery will get you nowhere.''

Harry rolled his eyes. ''You told me to read all those autobiographies, professor. I only have one left.''

''In that case, I hope it has taught you, Mr. Potter, to appreciate that not all of what you read should be trusted,'' Snape begun seriously, though his eyes widened as he snatched a second, half-open book from Harry's desk to discover endless underlining, high-lighting and otherwise destructive patterns.

''Merlin help you if this is ink, Potter-''

''Temporary marker,'' Harry explained quickly, before Snape could scold him. He carefully pried the book from Snape's grip and placed it delicately back onto the desk with a small pat to its cover. ''It's constructive noting and comes off with a simple spell, I swear. There were some paragraphs that I couldn't understand. I was going to ask you about those bits...''

''Yet you have not,'' Snape remarked, calming a little as he ran a delicate finger over the binding of Mr. Kratz' ancient work, as though inspecting for further damage.

Harry shrugged uncomfortably, gazing up Snape apprehensively through his fringe. ''I've just been... gathering the courage, I suppose.''

Snape tensed for a moment, but then sighed, tight-lipped. ''This afternoon. Bring all of these books, each one, to the library and we shall resolve these queries.''

''Thank you,'' Harry replied, smiling slightly through his surprise at his mentor's unexpected generosity.

Snape inclined his head. ''Now, shall we be having a discussion later? We do not have much time, I am aware, but I believe we can begin to make advancement with these nightmares.''

Harry winced, his face paling instantly. ''Alright. As long as we're not using wands.''

A ripple of amusement crossed Snape's face, and he seemed to relax slightly. ''They will not be necessary,'' he assured the boy, braving a step further inside the room. He levitated the book neatly into the trunk, and when Harry didn't cry out in outrage and stop him, he dropped into a chair by the boy's desk.

In fact, Harry almost appeared pleased when he acknowledged the man's movement, casting Snape a shy smile as he reached round the man to collect all stray parchment and ink. Only a week ago, Snape would not have dared crossed the threshold into the boy's room, or even wanted to.

''I shall also need time to... prepare for tonight,'' Snape added softly into the following silence, unconsciously turning his face towards the slight breeze that fluttered his hair from Harry's partially opened window. This bedroom received warmth from the sun, which his never did. Snape would not admit, even to himself, that the warm air felt good against the dry, pale skin of his face. ''My wound is healing, but it requires further attention before I take on such... strenuous activity.''

Harry nodded, unconsciously screwing his nose up in deep distaste at the thought of the torture undoubtedly waiting for the man, should he show his face to Voldemort in an unforgiving mood. ''You haven't been called yet then?'' he asked quietly, unsure of whether Snape would answer.

He did, however, with a small shake of his head, and Harry was grateful. He knew better than to argue his case. If Snape was going, he was going. There seemed very little Harry could do to convince him otherwise.

''And I suppose you want me to keep practising with my wand?'' Harry wondered out loud, casting an almost nervous glance onto his bedside table, where it lay, having remained unused for days now.

''If you feel well enough,'' Snape agreed carefully. ''Though there is no immediate need. I believe your power will return in time. You may retrain your mind at Headquarters with sufficient rest.''

An uncomfortable air surrounded them as both contemplated their near departure, where so many things were bound to chance. And not for the better. Snape fell into a contemplative silence as Harry darted around the room, stretching up on his toes to, much to his embarrassment, clear away owl droppings. Grinning sheepishly at Snape, Harry moved to lay flat on his stomach to retrieve stray parchment and forgotten magazines, until finally the room was clear.

''All done,'' he declared, hands on his hips as he regarded his work with pride.

Snape stood up, inspecting the space with a swift, calculating glance before nodding approvingly. ''Leave your trunk and shower. You shall not have time to wash later. I shall prepare lunch.''

''Yes, sir.'' Dropping his eyes, Harry sighed once again and failed to hide his gloominess at the prospect of his final day in training for at least a week. Dumbledore had, after much debate, seen it fit that Harry was to take a week off at Grimauld place, before he was allowed to continue training. Harry was not quite sure why, in addition to this, he was so uneasy with the prospect of being out of Snape's company for such a time, but it made him feel empty and unwanted regardless.

Watching the shutters fall across Harry's face, Snape suffered a sudden urge to comfort the boy, or at least make him see sense in their position. He grabbed Harry's wrist as he passed on the way to the bathroom.

Harry's head snapped up, green eyes meeting Snape's in confusion.

''I... I do not wish for you to leave,'' Snape said quietly, after a tense pause. ''It is imperative, but do not think that I...'' He closed his lips tightly, almost condemning himself with his own confession, but he needed Harry to know that he was welcome. That his company would not be gladly missed. If he allowed the boy to continue to believe he was at all satisfied with his leaving, he knew there would be slim chance of a return visit under civil circumstances.

Harry wanted to shiver under intenseness of Snape's gaze. There was no way the man was lying. He really did want him to stay.

Blinking, Harry fought a sudden lump in his throat and attempted to lighten the atmosphere. ''Then don't get killed tonight and I will come back.''

Snape highly doubted it. A week with Sirius would enable all of Harry's hatred for him to return. If any suspicion that Harry was at all warming to his potion master reached Sirius, he was sure to remind Harry of all the reasons, truthful or not, of why Snape was such a bastard. Sirius' influence over the boy was strong. It was the first time he'd meet his nephew since his illness, and therefore, his mood was likely to be blacker towards Snape than usual.

When Snape merely continued to look at him, unwilling to make promises he couldn't keep, Harry sighed, angry and confused about his own, deep longing for Snape to remain safe. With him. They made a good team and he wasn't quite ready for that to end yet. He wanted him to remain his teacher and his guidance. The man was his pillar and he was afraid his carefully built strength would dissolve once they parted, and the move they'd made towards respect for each other would dissipate just as rapidly.

Harry took a determined step forward and let his Gryffindor recklessness take over. ''I _need_ you.''

Snape glanced away almost immediately, as though stung, but the boy had already moulded himself to the man's chest.

''If you believe that, Potter, then I have failed sorely in my attempt to train you.'' Still, Snape returned the embrace cautiously, despite his better judgement, lowering his head to Harry's ear. He tried to ignore the subtle shaking that was coming from the boy, that suggested he really was as frightened as he seemed. ''You need someone, I will not deny it... A guide. You are incapable of functioning without a thick wall of support. But that person is not me.''

Harry tightened his lips where they pressed against Snape's robes, but did not argue, for Snape spoke with such conviction and certainty, that his own wavering emotions were incapable of defending themselves. He breathed in, comforted as Snape's hand moved, from the nape of his neck, into his hair, smoothing the strands with surprising tenderness, before he pulled away and nudged Harry firmly towards the bathroom.

Harry wiped a hand across his face and turned away without meeting Snape's eyes, unsure of what he would see there. He didn't want to see rejection, or distaste, or even affection, because he'd no idea what he wanted to become of it. Maybe seeing Sirius again would be a good idea. He couldn't keep relying on Snape, it was unfair. He'd already made it quite clear that he wanted to play no more serious role than a mentor in his life, despite his potential to be more.

Closing the door behind him, Harry cut off the man's presence, turning on the taps with a heavy heart.

---

When Harry failed to find Snape in the kitchen once he'd washed up, he automatically turned towards the library in search of his errant mentor. His wet hair caused him to shiver as the cold air of the room surrounded him, but the man was not there.

Fearing he had left already for his suicidal mission, Harry's panic grew. However, as he wandered into the kitchen a cool breeze hit his face and he altered his path. Frowning in confusion, he followed the taste of fresh air out into the garden, squinting into the bright sun.

Through a set of double doors, Harry found himself on a chequered patio of ancient design, hanging baskets strung left right and centre. All were empty and rotting.

He'd ventured out here only once, and that was in the rain. But now, in the brightness of more appropriate summer weather, all was dry and unquestionably beautiful, despite the desolate air.

Snape's black robes were clearly visible against the softer colours of nature. He was sitting at a table under the shade beside an old stone shed. His head was tilted back and his eyes were closed.

Harry's lips quirked and he crept forwards, smiling wider in appreciation as he realised that upon the table, there was a series of buffet type foods laid out. He took the seat opposite the man, resting his right arm in the sun and breathing in the scent of the many strange plants around him. It suddenly hit him that he'd barely been outside in weeks. It was an awful thought, but one he'd managed to forgotten in the light of recent events.

But it felt good to have a breeze against his skin, and Harry found himself smiling unconsciously to himself.

Snape's eyes snapped open as Harry leaned forward from some cutlery.

''Your stealth is improving,'' he said, almost irritably, as he leant forward to snatch a roll. It was obvious he was uncomfortable with the thought of appearing in such a vulnerable position, but Harry made no threat. He merely passed over the butter and helped himself to some salad.

Lunch was a quiet affair, but peaceful. It could very well be the last one they shared, Harry reminded himself, and therefore, he'd no desire for an argument to ensue.

---

''I've had an idea, sir,'' Harry begun tentatively, as Snape sat back, having eating very little himself. Harry hesitated, unsure as to how Snape would take his suggestion, and even whether it was worth voicing it.

''An idea?'' Snape repeated, interest piqued ''Pray tell, Potter. What is it?''

''Well... seeing as, technically, I don't really _have_ to tell you anything....'' Harry continued, ignoring Snape's raised eyebrow at the assumption. ''You know, about... private things, because they are private, professor.''

''I am sure they are,'' Snape agreed when Harry paused, obviously nervous. ''Go on.''

''And very secret. Many of the things that bother me...that I dream about, include the Dursleys and stuff about Voldemort, which I've never told anyone about before. I'm trusting you... And I thought, perhaps, in return, you could give a little as well. What I mean is, could we do like, a question for a question? I talk, you talk. It would make me more comfortable to know that I'm not the only one blurting all of my secrets.''

''I see,'' Snape answered finally, a tilt to his lips that told Harry the man had not taken his pledge at all seriously. ''Tell me, Potter, do you honestly believe, as mindlessly optimistic as you are, that I would allow you insight into any one of my... secrets?'' He sneered the word, as though it were an immature description of something far more sinister. ''Have I ever led you to believe that I share anything at all?''

Harry bowed his head, shaking his head in grim acceptance. ''No. I guess not.''

Snape narrowed his eyes when Harry appeared generally upset by the cold, albeit expected response. ''Trust me, Potter, you do not wish to know all that there is to know about me,'' he informed the boy, almost bitterly. ''Do not think that I am oblivious to your curiosity... but it is wasted, I can assure you.''

''I don't think that-'' Harry begun, but Snape cut him off with a wave of his hand.

''I shall consider your suggestion, nothing more. I am sure I can manage to allow you to know fascinating aspects of my character, if you are to be so persistent. My favourite food perhaps?''

Harry ignored the sarcasm and watched as, from beneath the table, Snape diverted from the conversation by drawing out a long silver box. He held Harry's eyes as he snapped open the fastenings and revealed a wooden chess board.

''Do you play chess, Mr. Potter?''

Curious as to the thought behind Snape's proposition, Harry nodded. ''I do... but badly. Ron's way better than me.''

''Ah, modesty,'' Snape murmured, pulling back his sleeves an inch to place the pieces on their respective squares. ''Just waiting for the chance to challenge me, hmm? Cunning, Potter, but it shall not be enough.''

Harry almost laughed, confused but intrigued and welcoming to the lighter side of Snape he was beginning to see more and more of. He found himself fascinated.

''I considered that perhaps the game would create a more... balanced atmosphere,'' Snape explained. ''I believed it would divert our attention a little from speech, and therefore, make it easier. A distraction, if you like.'' And not for himself, but for Harry. Harry tended to play with his sleeves when he was nervous, and mess hair when agitated, but this game would hopefully divert these habits and act as a buffer between them. Through creating such a distance, Snape hoped to enable Harry to bring himself closer and share the knowledge that would cure him.

He himself would focus his attention completely to Harry.

''This is not a competition,'' he added warily, as a spark of interest entered Harry's eyes. ''I will inevitably win, and therefore, I would prefer you not to waste too much attention on the board, Potter.''

''But-''

''Quiet. We shall begin. Noble as you are, Potter, you can be white.''

''And as you're such a fashion icon, you can be black,'' Harry retorted, before he could be stopped from speaking once again.

Snape appeared taken aback for a moment by the forwardness, but allowed a smirk to grace his features as Harry bowed his head and made his first move.

''Flattery again, Mr. Potter? I am... overwhelmed.''

Harry glanced up nervously, unsure of how far he could push things with account of Snape's often short tolerance. He swallowed, biting back a snort of amusement. ''Your move, professor.''

Pieces moved back and across the board for several minutes before Snape broke into the silence with an abrupt question.

''When were you first hit by your uncle, Mr. Potter?''

Harry swallowed heavily, caught off guard. ''Er...'' Snape's eyes were fixed on the chess board, and not at his face, which Harry realised, with gratification, that it was probably one of the many reasons the chess board had been used. He would not have to compete with facing the man's emotions with regard to his confessions.

It took Harry a while to gather himself, but Snape made no move to pressure him. Instead, his fingers were fixed at the tips, his eyes downcast upon his king.

''I was four,'' Harry answered finally, mouth dry. ''I'd dropped some dishes on Dudley's new shoes. Broken glass and a stain. Uncle Vernon wasn't pleased.''

Hoping this was enough of an answer, Harry was disappointed when Snape's eyes flickered up to his face. The man's eyes were strained with something incomprehensible and his jaw twitched. His earlier silence had, it seemed, not been born out of indifference.

''Elaborate.''

Shutting his eyes briefly, Harry cleared his throat and continued quietly. ''It was just a hard slap around the face, but I was so small I was thrown to the floor. I was petrified.''

A shudder ran through Harry, and he refused to continue, shutting his mouth into a hard line. Remembering his earlier plea, he pushed forwards his castle and asked, without much hope of a response, ''And you? Where you ever abused at home, professor?''

Snape blinked, but otherwise he remained impassive. He stared at him for so long Harry believed the man may actually answer. His mouth opened, and his eyes had darkened considerably, but when he finally spoke, his tone was mocking.

''My favourite cereal is cheerios. A muggle brand I discovered in my teenage years.'' He returned his attention to the chess board. ''When was the second time he laid physical harm upon you?''

Harry grimaced, shifting in his seat uncomfortably, but Snape was unrelenting. Trusting only in his mentor, and his surety that this discussion would help in his recovery, Harry spoke.

---

I know it's short and it's been ages, but I needed to get something out before this story turned cold. Is anybody still out there... reading this? If so, I'll try and have another update soon before life gets hectic again. :)


	26. Chess

---

Harry closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, as Snape finally called a long awaited break to their discussion. From spidery cupboards to ghost- filled graveyards, Harry was sure they'd covered just about everything.

However, Snape, it seemed, had merely begun his extensive interrogation session, if the forceful proposal of their third round of chess was anything to go by.

Rubbing his palms against his temples, Harry could already sense a headache brewing rather rapidly. His current mood could only grow further dismal as the afternoon pressed on, with deeper and more painful memories dragged to the surface and broadcasted for Snape's inspection.

The remainders of their lunch had long been littered with leaves, as had the chess board, with a light dusting across their head and shoulders. As well as a gently fluttering lady bird crawling along the inside of his elbow, a rather large, dotted leaf had wedged itself between the greasy roots of Snape's hair. Harry had yet to gather the courage to draw attention to it, as distracting as it was to regard the man with a serious expression when nature was choosing to devour him.

Harry smiled briefly as a gentle breeze ruffled his hair. He stretched back in his chair and allowed his mind to slip back into blissful blankness for a few moments, his every muscle taut with tension.

As the dark strands took flight with the wind, he was reminded just how shaggy he'd allowed the untidy mop to grow. Not that Snape didn't remind him often enough, with predictable scorn. Mrs. Weasley would undoubtedly attack him with a pair of garden shears the moment he stepped inside Grimauld Place.

Harry's hands tightened around his knees as his thoughts turned to the upcoming hours, and he exhaled. The sun was less hot against his neck than it had been a few hours ago. Evening was setting in.

''What's the time, professor?'' he asked, without opening his eyes.

''There is time enough for this,'' Snape responded quietly from across the table. ''I shall make sure of it.''

Without checking, Harry was well aware that Snape's dark eyes were fixed on his face, constantly scrutinizing with that deep, almost aching expression the man had adorned throughout the afternoon. His long fingers rapped a delicate pattern across the table top, but the tightness of his jaw and colourlessness of his face revealed the true depth of his involvement in the conversation.

It made Harry extremely uncomfortable, for he knew that in his current state, he was stripped of his most vital layers of defence and left completely vulnerable; he was transparent. And unlike occlumency, his emotions were shared by pure free will. All Snape had to do was listen.

Still, his past was a realm Harry delved into very rarely, and never consciously. His strain was beginning to show.

Snape was not pitying him in the slightest, or even offering much verbal compassion, but the true nature of his understanding went to a much deeper level, and Harry knew that his pain was not, and could not, be ignored. Each twitch and wavering tone emitted by the boy was carefully registered in a mental note by the potions master.

Chances were, Snape knew more than enough of Harry's past to gather a decent picture, but letting Harry continue to talk and air his suffering without fear of rebuke or judgement would be the key to the boy's own slow, but vital recovery.

''You are far too tense,'' Snape spoke again a moment later, when Harry forced his eyelids back open. An apple was dusted off brusquely and forced into his palm. With a small smile, Harry's gaze flickered up to the fruitful tree above his head, and he raised it to his mouth.

''For a wizard your age you are far too undernourished,'' Snape reprimanded, as in way of explanation. ''Your relatives no longer have influence over the quantity or nutrition value of your meals. There is no excuse for a poor diet, Potter.''

''What does it matter?'' Harry responded wearily, though he bit into the fruit with relish, savouring the juice that ran down his chin.

To Harry's surprise, Snape appeared angered by the question. He passed the boy a napkin roughly, eyeing the mess with disdain. ''It matters, Mr. Potter, because, despite your insolence, you have been granted the task of our glorious saviour. You are needed in one piece,'' he snapped, fighting down the paternal instincts that urged him towards altering more than just the boy's bad eating habits.

He tightened his lips briefly before lowering his voice and adding, far more honestly, ''It matters, you fool, because you deserve more.''

Harry stared at Snape sceptically, swallowing his mouthful carefully. ''I deserve no more that I get. There are far more people worse off than I ever was-''

''And with whom are you comparing yourself?'' Snape asked abruptly. When Harry merely shrugged, he winced briefly before leaning forwards with a sharp explanation. ''You never had much, Mr. Potter. Poor clothes, little food... From a mere child you have known extensive abuse, both physically and mentally. Therefore, you have, rather predictably, unconsciously deemed yourself unworthy of sufficient care.'' Snape paused, as though expecting Harry to protest, or at least make an argumentative point, but he merely sat quietly, listening with strained attention.

Snape felt a pang in his chest at the bleak picture the boy made, unable to constrict the rare empathy that reached out to him. Tightening his face into a mask of minute disdain, he added as dispassionately as he was able, ''As much as your instincts ensure that you are kept alive, you treat yourself as though you were worth little.''

Harry frowned as he thought this over, responding tentatively when Snape raised an eyebrow for an answer. ''I... never considered that I was behaving that way, professor.''

''Neither did I at your age,'' Snape answered vaguely, before he could stop himself. His past was just too close to the boy's to prevent linking them in his mind. It did not help his attempt to remain detached when he was so aware that Harry's selfless nature would not enable him to judge, or mock him in any way.

With that knowledge, Snape felt an odd warmth in the dark void inside of himself, where such memories of his own past had spent years locked away, festering unhealthily. The fact that he was the biggest hypocrite alive had not escaped his notice, which was why he forced himself to remain uncharacteristically patient when Harry was so reluctant to speak. He knew how painful it was to pick at old wounds.

''You were the same?'' Harry asked, voice rising in interest.

''I... became what I was taught to,'' Snape answered, after a delicate pause in which Harry studied the creases along the man's forehead as he bowed over the table between them. Snape busied himself with re-collecting his lost pieces, afraid that if their eyes met, he would see only himself in the boy's hopelessly lost expression. ''If you are convinced for long enough that you are worthless, it is what you shall become. That, for you Mr. Potter, is a dangerous concept.''

''Your uncle, I presume, founded this idea in your mind?'' Snape added a moment later, when he glanced up to find Harry lost in his thoughts.

''Mm. And my Aunt, and especially Dudley. Then I came to Hogwarts ... ''

Biting his lip in debate over whether he should continue, Harry fixed his hands in his lap and peered determinedly over the chessboard. With great care, he moved one of his pawns forward and spoke to the table.

''I thought I'd finally have a chance to prove myself. To be more than I was.''

''And you have, on countless occasions,'' Snape reminded him sharply. ''There is no doubt, Potter.''

''Yeah, but that was all part of some big... destiny,'' Harry explained, his brow creased. ''It wasn't helping me get any closer to finding out who_ I_ really was, but discovering my strengths. Getting back that Philosophers Stone was Dumbledore's way of introducing me to Voldemort. The Chamber Of Secrets was just another adventure to prepare me for yet more future meetings with my parents murderer. _Me_, Harry. Without a weapon in my hand, or a public speech to make. Who wants to know him? The Chosen One, is suffocated. Harry is lonely and... useless.''

Snape stared hard at him, distasteful. ''That is your honest self-opinion, Potter? If so, it nothing short of pitiful... and far off of the mark.''

Harry glanced up and snorted. ''Not too long ago, professor, it was you, more than anyone that confirmed my waste of space. You're a teacher. Naturally, I respect you and since my first day at Hogwarts you used your position of authority to confirm everything I'd already been taught. If I was not in the way somehow, a burden... then I was the 'class celebrity.' '' Harry quoted Snape's words from his first year with unconcealed bitterness.

''People hated me, judged me.... or glorified me. No one saw me for who I was, or bothered to look beyond my scar. Not even Ron and Hermione at first. I was the 'Boy Who Lived,' from the moment I set foot on the train.''

Snape's eyes flickered to Harry's forehead, where the famous mark was clearly visibly through the dark fringe. ''A shame,'' he said vacantly, his face closed and unreadable, when it appeared Harry was waiting for acknowledgement of what he'd confessed.

Unsure whether Snape's sarcasm was intended as scornful, or was even mocking at all, Harry continued more carefully, with a harder tone. ''Then I grew up, and realised that maybe I was just a tool... That Harry and Potter are two different people, and were always intended to be. _Harry _is not worth the time of day._ Harry's_ life is predestined. _Harry_ won't have a way to turn once this war is over. It is what I stand for now that matters.''

The ugly expression on the boy's face did not make a pretty picture. Snape frowned at the sight of it, while withdrawing slightly from Harry's words in both disgust and surprise at the blunt honesty he'd received. At least the boy knew the seriousness of his position, even if he had gained a rather twisted outlook.

''You distinguish very clearly between the two?'' Snape asked softly, curious, yet also disturbed by the revelation. ''Two people. The repressed and the... model.''

Harry nodded in confirmation Snape was afraid of, surprised that the man had understood his meaning so quickly, even if it was one he was rather ashamed of.

Snape gave a brief hum and they fell into a stony silence.

It was partly his own doing that Harry had such a negative view on his person, Snape knew, but he also had to accept, for the first time, that Dumbledore had a fair share of blame to take for the boy's current psychological condition. Allowing Harry to wear such a title as 'saviour' and believe it easily fitting would make growing up more difficult than if the old man would, just once in the while, treat the boy his age and accept that he wasn't capable of miracles.

When Snape turned his attention outward once more, it appeared that Harry had absorbed himself so much with the board game that reflection was deliberately impossible. Snape nudged forwards a piece with his thumb, without looking down, just to give the boy something to focus on.

It was a long while into the following silence that Harry finally raised his eyes to his teacher, knowing that he would have to sometime. Snape, however, was not looking at him. His gaze was fixed on the edge of the table, dark and distant.

Whatever internal debate the man was undergoing, Harry didn't like it. Snape appeared disturbed. Distasteful even. It made him appear even uglier than usual, with his face twisted so, but Harry watched the rare emotion with a strange satisfaction. Snape was feeling because of him. He was gradually breaking through that barrier of indifference the man attempted so hard to wear through any situation even remotely emotional.

''You...'' Snape begun finally. He cleared his throat and begun again, calm composure restored. ''As I have mentioned on countless occasions, Potter, you are no more, or less special than any other child, no matter what the headmaster may believe. You have a destiny, and therefore, you are marked. However, I must... recall any previous assumptions that isolated you from your peers in a way that has... demined you. Particularly personally. You are merely human. You have the right to be treated as such. All those who oppose such an obvious fact are as foolish as I.''

Harry threw his apple core onto the table, his face pale.

''You believe that you are worthless?'' Snape asked seriously.

Harry hesitated. ''No. Perhaps... I definitely used to. Now I just... feel a bit...''

''Go on, Potter,'' Snape encouraged, his face a curious frown.

''Empty,'' Harry admitted finally. ''It's the same feeling I get in my nightmares. Like I'm... alone. I know there are people that care for me, but no one that really _understands_. No one that I can relate to in the slightest. I'm... an outcast-''

An ungraceful snort cut Harry's speech short. For the second time, it appeared he had made Snape angry. ''An outcast?'' he sneered. ''You do not know the meaning of the term.''

Gradually, Harry's eyes widened as he thought more carefully about what he had said. He bowed his head. He'd no right to complain about loneliness in any form when he was facing the most solitary man in Britain; a man who really did know how it felt to live on the outside, always looking in.

''No,'' Harry agreed quietly, ''I don't suppose I do. I'm sorry, pro-''

''Enough of this,'' Snape snapped harshly, reminding Harry rather unpleasantly of the Snape he had hated not so long ago. A man who could reduce him to near- tears with his sharp tongue, whose anger and bitterness could be dredged to the surface within mere moments. ''The intention of this discussion is not to encourage self-pitying, Potter.''

Taking a breath, Snape recovered his temper. Harry was only still a child, after all, and his fear and doubts were just as important as his own, and not to be measured against anyone else's.

''This discussion has turned far too wayward. As you well know, Potter, my... regard of you is far from similar to previous assumptions made during your first year, and long before. You are far from... worthless. Your critical position is this war is unfortunate, but it cannot be avoided. If I have not at least partially enabled you to accept this destiny throughout your training, then you have failed to follow the appropriate teachings.''

Instantly, Harry tensed and threw back a hurtful retort of his own as Snape turned cold on him. He knew Snape's past was equally, if not more dark than his own, but that did not make his own any less important. The 'pity' remark had hit hard. ''_You_ helped convince me I was something to be avoided! Now you're suddenly on my side? Why should I listen to you anyway? It's people like you that pretend _Harry_ doesn't even exist.''

Snape's venomous stare withered as he considered the seriousness of the accusation. Harry had a decent point and it was one that he had not yet covered. ''I understand my opinion may not mean much to you Potter, but in these circumstances, I will only be honest with you. I have no delegation to know you... personally. That said, any previous assumptions that I may have made-''

Harry gave a soft snort. ''So, you were wrong about me before?''

Snape's eyes narrowed briefly, fixed on the boy in warning. ''Do not bait me, Potter. I shall not make any heartfelt confessions.''

''Why?'' Harry found himself blurting out, the stress of the afternoon momentarily bubbling over. He wanted to like Snape, but the man wouldn't make it easy. Selfishly, he just wanted to hear the man say that he cared more than on a professional level. If only once. And without the strict classroom voice and the 'assumptions' speach he'd heard many times now. Why was that so off limits?

The doubt that Snape was sincere only re-affirmed Harry's fear that not even his mentor would want to know him after the war. What interest could he hold for the man then? He'd no longer be a tool needed shaping. He'd be just a boy. Scarred and alone.

''Because that is not the way I do things,'' Snape answered tersely, intending to divert the conversation at the nearest opportunity. ''Encase you haven't noticed, Potter, I am hardly the man to sing your praises.''

Harry frowned, irritated by Snape's apparent indifference. ''Well, you could at least pretend like you care once in a while.''

Snape scowled at the boy, insulted by his sudden childishness and need for reassurance of his feelings. He would not admit that it hurt a little that the boy apparently hadn't noticed his attempt at... _niceness_. Never before had he tried so hard with a person as he had Harry over the last week.

Before he could allow himself to make any hurtful retort, he swept his gaze over Harry's exhausted form and raised his chin. Why, after all of his promises, was it still so hard for him to be honest with this boy? Snape refused to believe the answer was simple. He was not afraid of what personal truths he would unveil, of which would frighten Harry off faster than anything else.

He sighed, ignoring the desire to pinch the bridge of his nose and simply admit defeat.

''I am.''

''What? How?''

''Do you honestly believe I would be sitting here, allowing my ears to shrivel with such morbid tales, sharing another's burden if I did not care for them?'' Snape asked impatiently. ''Contrary to popular belief Potter, people are not that generous, and I less than most.''

A flush crept up Harry's collar. ''But-''

''It is my way, Potter, and if it is not good enough for you, I suggest you cease demanding the impossible.''

Harry sighed and bowed his head, suddenly very tired. Snape was right. He was being selfish and unreasonable. He had no right to ask for anything. ''Professor, I'm sorry.'' He rubbed a hand over his face and cringed. ''I know that. I think... I still have a lot of growing up to do.''

''In that, Mr. Potter, we are in agreement.'' Snape leant back in his chair and some of the tension left his shoulders. He had known this wouldn't be easy, but for some insane reason, he was persistent in getting to the bottom of these problems. It was the one assistance he believed he could offer the boy, that would actually prove a life-long use to him. ''But there is time.''

Harry nodded, still feeling the desperate need to explain away his insecurities. ''I just needed to know that... I'm being pathetic, but-''

''I understand. More than you know,'' Snape cut him off, leaning forwards to brush imaginary dust from his sleeves. He would not meet the boy's eyes when they were so open. It wasn't fair to have to compete with such an expression the boy had come to regard him with. ''And I am here,'' he added hesitantly, though with utter seriousness. ''But I have said it before, Potter, and this shall be the last time. Do not lean yourself so heavily upon me. I shall move without pre-warning and you will fall. Do not think I will catch you.''

Harry nodded grimly, accepting the man's wishes without complaint. He would not ask for more than a civil tongue from Snape again. He wanted to believe that Sirius would be all that Snape had become for him, but that just wasn't the case. However, it would have to be enough. There was no one else he trusted to speak with like this.

''_Harry_ will have time to do that whatever he pleases once his destiny has been fulfilled,'' Snape continued, tearing his eyes from Harry's slumped shoulders with some difficulty. He had no right to express guilt when he was only speaking common sense. He was not fit to treat the boy as he would a friend, or a child in his willing care, as constant, open affection was an impossibility for him.

If Harry insisted he be honest, he would, to an extent, but he would no sooner be signing any great responsibility over the boy than he would be cutting off his own arm. Better to disappoint the boy now than to hurt him later.

''And if he doesn't?'' Harry asked, face crinkled in a doubtful frown.

''If life not enough of an incentive to win?'' Snape asked, eyebrow raised quite calmly, while his heart was becoming more distracting as it beat against his ribcage. ''A promise of.. a more satisfying future?''

Harry nodded solemnly, and Snape moved swiftly on. He was unwilling to allow their conversation to run in circles, when all of the important points had been made. ''Now enlighten me to your more than frequent experiences with dementors.''

Harry groaned under his breath, shuddering at the very thought. ''Any time in particular?'' he asked, simply to buy himself time.

Unimpressed, Snape responded with limited patience. ''Third year. A detailed account, if you will, Mr. Potter, noting all emotions as appropriate.''

With that, the man settled back and watched Harry struggle through an answer, knowing that this, more than anything else, would draw them closer together more solidly, despite his ever effort to convince the boy to remain at arms length.

---

A sharp shrill broke through the humid air of the garden, just as the sun had begun to slip more rapidly towards the Earth. Snape and Harry glanced up simultaneously, their concentration broken.

''Dumbledore's here?'' Harry guessed aloud, glad for the distraction into his account of a particular gruesome nightmare involving Lucius Malfoy.

Snape merely cast him a sharp glance and rose to his feet, his face flickering with blatant irritation at the interruption. To disturb Harry mid-flow was to destroy the poor fluency of the boy's speech entirely.

As expected, Dumbledore appeared a moment later on the patio, the sunset casting his grave face into an orange glow. Having passed through the wards with no real difficulty, he gave a small wave at the pair and marched a direct path towards them.

''Chess,'' he observed briefly, as he reached their table and took in the setting. He smiled warmly at Harry, who forced a cough so that he would not have to fail an attempt at returning the gesture. ''A marvellous game. Excellent for the mind. I do hope you've not cheated the boy, Severus.''

Snape snorted, knowing full well that he could have effortlessly beaten Harry many times had he not been so keen for their conversation to continue with the game's aid. ''One does not cheat at this game, Albus.''

Dumbledore's smile remained in place, but it did not reach his eyes. As tired as he had appeared before, he beckoned to them with both hands. ''I am afraid we must leave almost immediately. I shall apparate the three of us to Headquarters, and Severus, you shall leave from there. We are already late.''

''Albus-'' Snape protested, as politely as he was able. To content with Sirius' taunting moments before he faced Voldemort would not set him in good stride.

''I wish for the Order to meet before you leave tonight. After all, you are part of us, and I would like the others to at least be aware of the proceedings... should something happen,'' Dumbledore explained, without leaving room for further argument.

Snape nodded his assent, straightening up. Harry followed suit, undecidedly nervous. The atmosphere had turned strained within moments, for the following night would be difficult for all of them.

''Now, Severus, I suspect there are a few things you'd like to take care of before we depart,'' Dumbledore added, more brightly, as though they were off on a holiday. He turned to Harry, noting how the boy's hands were wrung together tightly and he was standing more closely to Snape than he would usually have done. ''Harry, why don't you give him a hand? I shall take care of your trunk.''

-

Harry followed Snape's sweeping cloak back into the house, the darkness of the hallway harsh against his eyes after the bright, coolness of outdoors.

Without any nonsense, Snape issued the boy with instructions and, wandless, they secured the Manor until it would next open to them. Cupboards were shut, valuables locked away and ancient portraits re-covered.

Snape turned his back on the boy as he fixed the wards on the front door with unsteady hands, mind a whir of words and phrases alluding to a vague goodbye. He would not be harsh with the boy, though neither would he allow Harry to force him into making sentimental promises he'd have no way of keeping.

He was well aware Dumbledore had granted them this time, away from the rush and distractions that would meet them at Headquarters, for them to part on calm tones. Snape supposed, as much as it made him uncomfortable, that he did owe the boy some sort of farewell after all they'd been through. He snorted softly at the very thought. Him, Severus Snape, reluctant to give Harry up to his godfather for a mere week? It was a joke, yet a sad fact he'd yet to deal with.

Harry watched Snape struggle with a wary expression. He wanted to thank the man, or at least ask him for permission to return as soon as he was able, but he doubted Snape would let him.

When Snape's fingers slipped on the third lock, Harry automatically reached towards the trembling limp with a concerned expression. ''You're shaking.''

Snape snatched his hand away, twisting further away from the boy. He'd spent so long concerning himself with Harry's endless problems, that his own danger had been forced to the back of his mind. Now, there was no escaping it.

''Do not be absurd-''

''But you are,'' Harry persisted, reaching forwards once again with a stubborn frown. This would be his last chance to convince the man to stay. Never before had he seen Snape afraid of anything. ''Sir, you _know_ this isn't right. You could get seriously hurt. It isn't worth going back just for-''

''It is,'' Snape interjected harshly. His hand twitched from between Harry's, but he didn't move it away, for its trembling had ceased when squeezed so tightly between the boy's warm palms. ''I am a spy, Potter. It is my role to remain as close to the Dark Lord as is possible. It is my only use to the Order. If I fail in this, then we shall approach this war blind.''

Harry sighed, rubbing at his forehead with his spare wrist. ''I understand that.''

''Then allow me to leave without causing such a scene,'' Snape suggested, latching on to the small measure of acceptance. ''Your teachings shall not suffer as a result of my potential demise, I can assure you. The headmaster is prepared for all potential outcomes.''

Harry tightened his lips and turned his face away with a scowl.

Before he could say anything uncomfortable, Snape gave a small tug on his hand to regain the boy's attention and extended his argument. ''Considering my position, it is unlikely that the Dark Lord would wish me dead, Potter. I am of far greater use to him alive.''

Though the idea gave Harry very little comfort, he forced himself to take confidence from an ideal outcome. Either way, Snape was going to be hurt tonight.

''I just need you to know that... I care,'' Harry said bravely, looking up at Snape apprehensively, knowing that the man did not take compliments well. But he couldn't let him go thinking there was no one aside from Dumbledore who wished him to remain safe. ''That I appreciate what you're doing. And... it matters to me whether or not you return. I know it doesn't mean a lot, but it's the truth.''

Snape winced, willing the statement to affect him far less than it did. He would have to be honest, for he may not get the chance again and it was important the boy know. ''Quite the contrary, Mr. Potter,'' he spoke quietly, his eyes widening marginally to something akin to awe as he considered the sincerity behind Harry's confession. ''It means more than you know.''

Harry blinked as the close atmosphere immediately grew to something more awkward.

Pale faced, Snape tugged a little harder, until Harry allowed the man's hand to slip from his grasp completely. Snape took a step back and straightened his spine, staring down his nose at Harry with a small frown.

''Get yourself a jumper, boy, or you shall freeze.''

Reluctantly, Harry turned towards the stairs with a short nod. Before he had a time to get a grip on his emotions, he was standing once more in the centre of his bedroom, gazing down at the garden with a hopeless expression.

The chess board was still where they'd left it, Dumbledore know occupying the space Snape had left, his face grave and thoughtful as he twirled a long finger through his beard. Night had almost fallen.

He didn't want to go so much it was almost an ache. Even the promise of Ron and Hermione's delighted faces was not enough for Harry to willingly give up his place here. If only he could have a few more weeks, and then it would be over. He could leave without guilt and Snape's job would be done.

Harry watched as Dumbledore's face stilled for a moment, and then tilted to look directly at him. Stepping back quickly, Harry grabbed a jumper. It was only when he lifted the fabric into his arms that he noticed three vials lying on his bed beside a thick, leather bound book, a note seated neatly on top. It was Snape's handwriting.

_Do not mention it._

Harry frowned, stowing the writing in his pocket as he tilted the book towards him to read the cover. _'Quidditch through the centuries_,' stared up at him and he felt his heart leap in his chest. It was the book he'd found in Snape's library in what seemed like so long ago. The man had let it up, just like he promised.

Grinning like a fool, Harry slipped the book under his arm. The potions were immediately identifiable as dreamless sleep and found a place in his pockets. There was enough to get him through the next week, without relying solely on their power of emptying the mind. He would have to work for his peace.

Taking the stairs back down three at a time, Harry found Snape waiting for him in the shadows at the bottom, his expression once more unreadable.

His eyes flickered to the book as Harry jumped the last few steps, his lips twisted slightly, but he made no comment. What he would not allow himself to admit through words, he had expressed through a gift that even know half-called to him to be snatched back.

Harry fell into step beside Snape as they walked back through the house, passed countless rooms, many of which held unforgettable memories, both horrific and comforting. Snape's pace was unhurried, his face closed, but when he held open the back door for Harry before locking up, he cast the boy a small smile, all traces of hostility absent.

He knew he should probably keep talking, convincing the boy of his worth. He should tell him that, though you couldn't choose family, the friends you allowed yourself was far more important. That he had been one of the most engaging students he'd ever taught. And that it had been, if not a pleasure, then an experience he would allow himself to repeat without such a struggle.

But he bit the inside of his cheek. Harry would get there on his own. He was already half way there.

Harry stared back. It was the most open expression Harry could ever hope to receive from Snape. This was a different man to the one he'd met a few weeks ago. No matter what happened tonight, Harry would not forget him.

Dumbledore rose heavily to his feet as the others approached.

''Do not look so weary, my boys,'' he said, gazing sadly at the pair. ''This is not the end.''

Snape took Dumbledore's wrist wordlessly. The headmaster then held out an arm to Harry but Snape was already gripping the boy's shoulder in a firm grip.

''It is alright, Albus. I have got him.''

Dumbledore's face twitched into a true smile, before he exhaled, long and low. The two men nodded at each other and apparated from the grounds of Snape Manor.

--


	27. Saying Goodbye

Harry's knees buckled into a mossy forecourt. The humid summer air around him had vanished so suddenly it was suffocating.

In the instant his surroundings became familiar, his mind flew back to a few weeks ago, when he'd been forcefully pushed against this earth, the sharp edge of the step cutting deep into his elbow.

Darkness crept along the gaping cracks in Harry's mind, along with the chill. Closing his eyes tightly, he fought of a dizzying sense of disembodiment, and prepared himself for the inevitable.

However, the added pressure of Snape's arm, briefly around his waist, enabled him to remain standing, rooted, unharmed.

''Alright?'' A deep voice murmured by his ear, and Harry nodded frantically, not wanting to create a panic.

His breathing was harsh as he gathered his bearings, silently cursing the de-orienting, horrifically unpleasant affects of side- along apparation. Any verbal gratitude he wished to express for his mentor's assistance during the split- second journey stuck deep in his throat.

Snape's dark gaze was sharp on his face, registering the moist, pale complexion with no appreciation. Unspoken concern was written along the creases of his brow.

Harry jerked his face away before the predictably grim, albeit true assessment of his weak state could be voiced.

''Potter...'' A subtle, disapproving shake of his head and Snape bent a fraction towards him, eyes narrowing, but the door to Grimauld Place was already being swung open.

Dumbledore, Harry and Snape straightened up and approached the door as voices were heard from inside. Sirius' gaunt face appeared, apprehensively searching the darkness. A 'lumos' was cast, and the three men blinked against the thoughtless gesture, hands raised to cover their eyes.

Sirius opened his mouth wordlessly as he gazed down at them, assessing their identity with thorough scrutiny. ''Albus?'' he questioned vaguely.

Dumbledore responded crisply with a complicated, foreign sounding phrase that reminded Harry of a very elaborate sneeze. However, the response must have been valid, for Sirius' face eased slightly, and he pushed the door open wider. His bagged eyes wandered the length of the street, and then fixed on Harry's face as he stepped forwards.

Holding out a hand, Dumbledore lowered his wand and intercepted Sirius' abrupt move forwards. Severus took a subtle step back, his head lowering a fraction.

Harry shivered against a light breeze fluttering up his sleeves, and gazed up at his godfather, ashen faced.

A gentle, but firm nudge against the small of his back, and Harry stepped forwards. ''Hello, Sirius,'' he said quietly. ''It's alright if I stay for a while then?''

An incomprehensible croak escaped Sirius chapped lips, his face transforming with a wide grin and clearing of any previous suspicion.

He cleared his throat, and tried again. ''Welcome home, Harry.''

He either didn't deign Harry's question in need of a genuine answer, or misheard it completely, for he spoke no further. The simple statement was enough to express his willing acceptance to the boy.

Harry forced a weak smile, his heart thudding painfully hard in his chest. He wanted to run at the man, squeeze the breath from his body, but a heavy weight in his chest did not allow him to. He'd never felt more lost in his life. Never felt less at home, both physically and emotionally.

''Inside, Sirius, if you please.'' Dumbledore delayed the reunion as he stepped through into the house, beckoning the others to do the same. ''Safety procedures,'' he informed Harry, as he lightly took the boy's elbow.

The hallway was dark, and just as Harry remembered it. Dust hung from the ceilings, coating the banister and clung to his sleeves the minute he lingered long enough for it to settle.

Even as they prepared to remove their jackets, multiple lights were appearing upstairs, the sound of hurried footsteps crossing the hallway. Harry's stomach sank a little further, even as his nerves fluttered at the thought of conversing with his best friends once again. He had no idea how to approach a valid explanation of his experiences over the summer.

Dumbledore balanced his trunk against the foot of the staircase, Hedwig balancing unsteadily on top. Swaying side to side with the motion of her cage, she was watching the proceedings with wide, inquisitive eyes.

Harry cast her a brief smile before turning wearily back towards the door, just in time to witness his mentor prevented from crossing the threshold by a fist thrown wildly at his face.

Stumbling backwards, Snape clutched the doorframe for support as he grunted in both pain and surprise. Another sharp bark of pain was ripped from him as his fingers were locked in the hinges, the heavy wooden door thrown against his bony hand.

''Sirius!'' Harry jumped forwards, nudging his godfather out of the way with a hard elbow. A dull shudder of discontent accelerated Harry's heart as he pulled the door back open with a forceful tug, all thoughts on the man left vulnerable and exposed on the doorstep.

A swift movement from Dumbledore prevented Sirius' second blow from proving far more dangerous to Snape, with Harry caught in the cross-fire as he recklessly planted himself in the middle.

With the headmasters' help, Snape was pulled unceremoniously inside, the door locked and warded behind him. Remus and Arthur Weasley appeared a moment later from the direction of the kitchen. Lunging forwards, they hauled Sirius back, struggling to retain him.

''God, sorry, Albus,'' Arthur apologised breathlessly, as he pinned one of the man's arms to his sides. ''We rather suspected he'd so something like this.''

''We didn't even hear the door,'' Remus added apologetically. ''Sirius got there before we could stop him. You have to understand, he's been worried sick about Ha-''

''Oh shut up, Mooney,'' Sirius struggled, though he did not deny the fact. His eyes were fixed on Snape with a deep-seated hatred, refusing to be reasoned with. ''We all know you want a crack at the old creep as well. He tried to kill the boy for Merlin's sake.''

Ignoring the restrained tussle between the Order members, neither willing to hurt the other in their attempt to get what they wanted, but just as determined, Harry pushed aside a stack of umbrellas and knelt down beside Snape.

He winced. ''Professor?''

Snape appeared to regain his wits as he was addressed, a greasy lock obscuring his face irritably waved aside.

Harry chose to ignore the obscene profanities muttered under Snape's breath. Instead, he crouched an inch closer, groaning quietly as he eyed the dark bruise that was appearing on the man's hand and wrist, covering the main portion of the swollen skin. As if he hadn't been through enough pain already.

Harry's lips tightened in sudden anger, but Snape seemed to read his expression, for he shook his head at the boy, the anger draining from his face to be replaced with something far more unreadable, yet no less agitated.

''Leave it, Potter.'' His eyes flickered to Sirius' angry form with brief apprehension. As much as he loathed to admit it, Harry would need his godfathers' emotional support in the coming weeks. Snape would not be the cause of a dispute, as satisfying as it would be. He would not have the boy hurt for some foolish belief that he needed protection.

Glaring sullenly at the boy, he added tersely, ''This fight is between Black and I. You have no place in it.''

Harry's face registered poorly concealed annoyance. ''That's why I'm stuck in the middle, is it? You think I like to see two people I care about, constantly at each others' throats?''

The response caught Snape so off guard, his surprise was clearly evident before gradual disdain smothered the brief emotion. He expected the boy to take back what he'd said in a fluster of regret, but he didn't. Harry just stared at him defiantly.

Snape sighed heavily, hesitating before making an attempt to stand. Glad for the commotion continuing to surround them, he used the moments privacy to tug Harry a little closer, while he had the chance.

''You must understand. Your emotional imbalance, Potter, is partly a result of long-term lack of... affection. As a minor, your requirements are, unavoidably, sentimental-''

''I know all this-'' Harry begun, but Snape silenced him with a low grunt of frustration.

''He is the one you need.'' Snape cringed, as though each word was vomit passing his lips, but a desperate sense of determination pressed him to utter them. ''You may not like it at the moment, Potter, but the paternal devotion you require lies with that man. Aside yourself with me, and you shall compromise it. Now go.''

''But you're hurt,'' Harry protested, casting away the man's words with little thought, though they stirred something deep inside him that made considering the point incredibly uncomfortable.

Snape gave a tight-lipped hiss of pain as his hand, clearly broken, gave a throb under Harry's inspection. He considered pushing the boy away, as was undoubtedly natural, but the look on Sirius' face was too priceless to ignore, despite its danger.

His every present concern was with regard to Harry and his comfort through the next few weeks. It was unlike him to be so unselfish, but Harry seemed to have developed the rather irritating tactic of softening the harshest of his characteristics.

He'd assumed he and the boy had an unspoken agreement to remain distant in the realm of Harry's godfather. He'd thought Harry would be ashamed, or at least self- conscious about the new closeness of their relationship. He was hardly a welcomed man by the boy's remaining family, after all.

Harry, however, did not flinch when Sirius called his name, a warning underlining his confusion. Harry could feel his neck burning under the stare of the countless others that had joined them at the front door, but refused to act in any way that did not feel entirely natural.

Snape's eyes connected with Sirius's over Harry's gently shaking shoulder, all warmth descending rapidly. Indulging the pain for a mere moment, seeing as the boy was so set on causing a scene, he gave a soft whimper, and smirked in satisfaction when Harry's face crumpled further in sympathy.

The effect was immediate. Sirius face was livid, his blatant confusion evident.

Even Arthur and Remus had slackened their hold, distracted by Harry's evident concern over the harm of his once hated professor.

''Enough,'' Dumbledore interjected finally, when the lull in the proceedings enabled him to. His eyes held an unusual amount of anger as he turned a critical stare on Sirius.

''As you are well aware, Severus had a serious mission tonight. One that is accepted with the safety of your godson solely in mind. He does not need aggravation tonight, nor mocking, and neither does Harry.''

Gently, but firmly, he pushed Harry aside and hauled Snape to his feet in one decisive movement. He cast the man brief once over, lined his wand with his wrist to heal the wound, before nodding once.

Snape issued him a quiet thank you, running his fingers over the tingling skin, while flaying Sirius alive with his eyes.

''Severus,'' Dumbledore warned quietly, before he returned his attentions to the others. ''I must ask you to make this as easy as possible. If not for my sake, then for Harry's.''

Shaking his head distastefully at Dumbledore's closeness to Snape and willing acceptance, Sirius reverted his attention to his godson. ''Harry, this man poisoned you.''

''Poisoned me?'' Harry repeated blankly. ''Professor Snape would never poison me!''

Sirius snorted, casting the man in question a dark glance. ''No, he'd do far worse and he'll pay for it, I can assure you.''

And then, as though a weariness had overcome his anger as quickly as it had arisen, Sirius rubbed a hand over his face and his gaze lightened upon Harry. ''Step over here now, Harry. It's all over. You don't have to go through this anymore.''

He held out a hand, and for a moment, Harry very much wanted to take it, and ease back into that feeling of security and warmth his godfather had once so easily provided. But when that feeling failed to materialise, and the demons in his mind growled louder than they had in days, he shrunk instinctively back towards Snape.

It was in that moment that Snape realised, with a sickening jolt in his gut, that he needed to take action. All eyes in the room flickered towards him at Harry's curious behaviour, and he sniffed unappreciatively at the attention.

Harry was but a second away from clasping at Snape's robed arms with his hands, when the man's cold tones cut through him like ice.

''Must we all be delayed to indulge the Golden Boy his tantrums?''

Harry frowned in genuine confusion, searching the well-known lines of his teachers' face for the reassurance he had come to expect. When that too, was absent, Harry realised finally what the man had meant when he refused to serve as an anchor. He was leaving him to Sirius. Wilfully handing him over. Refusing to accept the possibility of strengthening their relationship, rather than demining it. He was alone.

Snape crossed his arms over his chest, convincing himself it was not an act conceived to hold himself together. ''Come, Potter. Have I ever given the assumption that your company would be tolerable outside of an educational scenario? No? Then get a move on, boy. Allow this meeting to begin, and we can all part in our own ways.''

Swallowing sharply, Harry lowered his gaze to the floor, effectively rebuked, and muttered a brief assent.

Snape wanted to shake some sense into the boy as he watched the thin shoulders slump. How dare Harry take his word so easily? Did he really believe their relationship so fickle as to crumble under the nearest pressure? The boy's instant acceptance of his rough verbal shove almost hurt, if he hadn't been so relieved.

''Let us move into the kitchen.'' Dumbledore suggested, his eyes, for once, unreadable as he looked briefly between the two men. With a moments hesitation he included Harry in his decision. ''Harry, I'd like you to come as well. I think it's high time you knew of these... discussions. Unless of course you'd rather-''

''No!'' Harry answered quickly, eyes snapping up and holding a ray of hope. ''I want to be a part. I want to help.''

Dumbledore's eyes softened in a sudden pride, as did two others in the room, but Harry felt too unsettled to notice.

Without needing to be told twice, Harry followed Dumbledore's lead. On impulse, he grabbed Sirius' wrist as he passed and dragged the man along beside him before he could create any more damage. Not that the man needed much encouragement. He stayed close to Harry's side as they followed the dark contours of the house, their feet creaking rhythmically on the ancient floorboards.

Harry caught a glimpse of pale pink slippers as he passed the staircase... the flicker of familiar faces, but could not bring himself to look up.

Stale, damp air met Harry's nostrils as the kitchen door was pressed open, the vacant scent of food making his stomach churn instinctively. He crinkled his nose, before blinking in surprise as he followed Dumbledore into a room full of witches and wizards, gathered round the long kitchen table and looking apprehensive. The headmaster hadn't been kidding when he'd initiated a meeting between the entire of the Order of the Phoenix.

Many he recognised. Moody was present, as was Professor McGonagall and Kingsley Shacklebot. But equally so, there were many faces Harry wasn't familiar with. Calculating, inquisitive faces that he'd rather not deal with at present.

It might have been his imagination but he thought he saw Snape's recoil slightly as well from the crowded scene, noticeable from where the man came to a hesitant halt beside him.

''Albus...'' Snape begun warily, but Dumbledore was already striding purposefully towards the head of the table.

Harry hadn't realised just how emotionally attached he'd grown to Snape until he was faced with a room full of people, and the only person he felt safe with was the Head of Slytherin House. Probably because they had been alone together for so long, but Harry just wanted to eliminate everyone else and go back to the way things were. Where he felt safe and comfortable, without judgement pressing on him from every side.

He didn't want to communicate with people who only saw his scar, the face of his father... A hero. He was none of these things, and Snape seemed to be the only one to get that.

A few witches rose to their feet and acknowledged Dumbledore with friendly smiles as he walked in. Others merely nodded, their faces strained, blatantly sizing up their newest member.

Feeling a miserably familiar sense of disdain against their thoughtless rudeness, Harry stood awkwardly to the side until Dumbledore beckoned him forwards. It had been a while since he'd felt this young around his elders, but the harsh blow his confidence had received recently was not aiding his attempt to appear the willing saviour they all assumed him to be.

A firm palm was placed on his shoulder, and his nerves waned for a moment. He smiled warmly, turning to look over his shoulder, expecting Snape, but Sirius was looking down at him, eyes brimming with gentle encouragement.

Harry shook his head, closing his eyes briefly and exhaling. If Snape was never going to be there, standing at his shoulder at moments like this, he needed to get used to it.

Before Harry could speak , his godfather was gently, but persistently pushing him across to the far end of the table, where he took a seat close beside Remus. He gestured Harry to take the place between himself and Dumbledore.

Harry met his godfathers' eyes for a second as he lowered himself into his chair, and felt himself pale with shame. He did not want to disappoint the man, or reduce him to second best, for he'd never shown Harry anything but love.

Snape, Harry noted, had followed Dumbledore and taken a seat vaguely opposite him, his face set into an emotionless state Harry knew he used when he was distinctly uncomfortable, and wished to merge in with the wallpaper.

The others filtered round the table accordingly, the voices picking up, some aiming direct questions at Harry, which he pretended rather childishly that he couldn't hear.

Snape himself suffered a similar hounding, though his cold indifference quickly subdued the eagerness for report.

''Quiet,'' Dumbledore instructed finally.

Instantly, silence fell across the table, broken short by a late Molly Weasley, returned from ushering the children back to bed.

''Sorry, Albus,'' she uttered quietly, chancing an affectionate glance in Harry's direction. ''Ginny was making a fuss, as per usual. All settled now.''

She had lost weight, Harry noted immediately as he nodded in response to the small wave. Matched with considerable bags under her eyes, the hollowed look did not suit her.

Following close behind, Fred and George Weasley threw Harry matching grins, which he returned queasily.

''Now,'' Dumbledore continued, as they settled in. His left hand tangled in his beard as he eyed each occupant in the room in turn. ''I would like to take the rare opportunity that we are all grouped together, minus a few noticeable figures, much missed, to make an assessment of our current progress...''

Harry's ears perked up at that, his back lifting a little straighter as he realised he was to be privy to such secretive knowledge.

Snape snorted softly from across the table, resigned amusement in his eyes as Harry's thirst for information finally prepared to be satisfied.

Despite the obvious interest the boy held in the proceedings, the meeting lasted longer than expected. After a long day, Harry's eyelids grew heavy as Dumbledore's' heavy voice continued to fill the silence, longer responses chipping in when appropriate.

Voldemort, it seemed, was still very much alive and set on causing as much stress for the Order as possible. The responsibility was, as predicted, left to Harry to bring the war to the nearest possible end.

Dumbledore turned a resigned stare on Harry as he made the myth of the 'chosen one', into a very firm reality. Harry kept his face blank, refusing to meet probing black eyes as he accepted the unasked question wordlessly.

''Finally, as many of you are undoubtedly already aware, one of us is tonight undertaking a dangerous move for the Order, with the intention of regrouping within Voldemort's ranks.''

All eyes swivelled to Snape but the man barely twitched, his impassive gaze fixed on Dumbledore.

''Perhaps just as importantly, he shall attempt to reclaim his wand. As investing in another would not enable him similar powers as before, we have both deemed this a worthy cause, considering his current position in relation to Mr. Potter. If, however, a reconciliation with the Dark Lord proves a possibility, he had agreed to do all in his power to do so. Severus' efforts in the past have been essential to our cause, and I see no reason why he cannot triumph once again.''

Harry made a disapproving noise in the back of his throat. Sirius cast him a small, sideways frown. Harry lowered himself in his seat, pretending to cough until the attention passed.

''Harry, as you can see,'' Dumbledore continued finally, changing the topic of conversation when all tactics had been covered, and it seemed Harry's presence could be ignored no longer, ''has joined us for this evening.''

Harry forced his gaze upwards as he was scrutinized openly by countless eyes, very aware of the havoc wrecked hair he'd not bothered to brush that morning. He nodded politely at them all, feeling a dull flush rise to his cheeks. Arthur Weasley, directly opposite him, was a friendly face among many, smiling gently in unintentional encouragement, that Harry chose to focus on, while Dumbledore explained his progress over the summer.

He caught brief words, feeling strangely exposed as his progress was made knowledge of the entire Order.

''... Strenuous period... Advanced methods... Defensive properties... Occlumency...Stamina... And after a bout of sickness, he is slowly, but surely, regaining health-''

''And what exactly did happen with regard to Mr. Potter's... illness?'' asked a middle aged witch Harry had never seen before. Her hard, merciless eyes switched to Snape for an instant. ''There have been rumours that his teacher-''

''Rumours exactly,'' Dumbledore cut swiftly across her, as though he'd been expecting such an interruption. He smiled at her, quite calmly. ''While Severus does not remain blameless for Harry's less than healthy state, he is not the sole cause of his... rather unfortunate bout of illness.''

Sirius stiffened beside him and Harry automatically reached out to touch his wrist, willing him with every muscle in his body not to make a scene. Not to make this difficult. To stop fighting...

But it seemed his silent pleas fell on deaf ears, for Sirius was the next member to speak, anger barely suppressed. ''Snape doesn't buy into the whole idea of student welfare, Melissa. And especially not if it involves Harry.''

A hush fell across the table as the accusation spread, Snape's response anxiously anticipated.

When, however, his dark eyes failed to register emotion of any sort, irritation included, Dumbledore stepped in, casting the man a grateful glance. ''My staff are fully qualified in the needs of our students, Sirius,'' he explained calmly. ''Severus included. I am unfamiliar with the exact symptoms of Harry's fever myself, as they include both physical and psychological upsets.'' He cast Harry an apologetic glance, as though he knew perhaps the boy would be uncomfortable with sharing such private information.

''Nevertheless, no Potion Master could have brewed such a deep level of discontent.''

''You're saying that Mr. Potter's condition is unique?''

Harry watched the proceedings, half grateful that his opinion was not being sought after, and half bewildered that they could talk so casually while he sat at the very same table, his presence ignored entirely. But for fear of Sirius' temper erupting once again, Harry cleared his throat and made it known to Dumbledore that he wished to speak.

''It was... and I think Professor Snape agrees,'' Harry begun hesitantly, addressing the table for the first time, ''that there was fault on both our parts. I should have stopped training so hard when he told me to. When I'd reached my limit. I pushed myself too far and allowed myself to get exhausted. But... I will take better care of myself now.'' Harry glanced at Snape, smiling slightly as he recalled their conversation earlier in the day. ''I'm working on my occlumency skills and I think, with further tutoring, my mind will be as clear as it was-''

''Further tutoring?'' Sirius repeated, looking away from Harry to raised an eyebrow at Dumbledore. ''You cannot be serious?''

Dumbledore nodded gravely. ''A weeks rest Sirius, in your capable hands, and all things permitted, he shall return to Severus' care-''

''Over my dead body-''

''That can be arranged, Black,'' Severus sneered from across the table, speaking for the first time. ''Or shall it be Harry that pays the price for your selfish-''

''I can train him,'' Sirius argued heatedly, only prevented from rising to his feet by Harry's stubborn pressure on his arm. ''There's no reason for you to interfere with the boy, Snape. I don't know what twisted game you're playing here, but you've had your fun. You damn near killed Harry.''

''Sirius,'' Remus begun, leaning towards his friend, but found himself carelessly brushed aside. ''Harry is just-''

''Look how pale he is, Mooney. Does he look he's been having the time of his life to you?'' Sirius snapped. ''I know you live off cold blood, Snape, but a kid does need to _eat_ for Merlin's sake.''

''Hm,'' agreed Snape, eyes narrowing in intense hatred. ''As does a child in the care of less than adequate relatives. I do not recall your influence then Black, administering appropriate nutrition? It must have been hard, locked up in Azkaban, to be such an... attentive carer for the boy.''

Sirius paled considerably, before turning the deepest shade of red yet. He got no further chance to retaliate, however, for another voice, much calmer, carried across the table.

''What do you want, Harry?'' asked Mr. Weasley, as though there was not a life-long dispute occurring directly across him. ''How do you see your training progressing?''

Harry was no longer quite so pale as everyone took this as an opportunity to scrutinize him afresh, his cheeks burning crimson.

''I...'' Harry faltered, taken off guard. Ignoring Sirius hopeful expression, he forced himself to be honest. ''My training isn't finished. There's still so much more I need to learn,'' he stated nervously. ''And... seeing as Professor Snape has been doing a good job so far, and you know, I'm comfortable with his teaching methods, I don't see why I shouldn't go back if he'll have me.''

''How in Merlin's name did you do this?'' Sirius asked quietly, almost incredulous, looking back and forth between Harry and Snape as though daring himself to believe it. ''Have you manipulated my godson to such an extent that he too blinded to remember what a callous bastard you are-''

''If that is what Harry wishes, I can assure you it is a decision made entirely of his own free will,'' Dumbledore interjected firmly. ''And he is right. Severus can offer him resources that no other can.''

Despairing of making the headmaster see sense, Sirius turned his attention solely to Harry.

''Look at me,'' he instructed, bending Harry towards him by a firm hand on his shoulder. He took a deep, calming breath, though his determination remained strong. ''Whatever... relationship you seem you seem to think you have with this man, it's an illusion. I can understand, Harry, if I have to, that you've been ... tricked into trusting him. I was a fool to allow you into such close proximity. This never should have happened. But once you're back here, and you've calmed down, things will become much clearer I promise you.''

''It's not like that, Sirius,'' Harry sighed. He knew there was little chance of the man ever understanding his position, but he had to at least try to explain. ''Professor Snape has been really good to me. We didn't get on at first. We still don't really. He made life pretty much unbearable, but then things started to change. If you would just look closer, Sirius, and get over whatever arguments you had when you were my age, you could be friends-''

''Friends?'' Sirius scoffed, looking at Harry as though he were seeing him for the first time. ''Is that what you think you and Snivelly are?''

''No! Not at all. It's just that we-''

''If your father could hear you now, Harry, he'd be disappointed. Even more than I am,'' Sirius cut across stonily, stiffening in his chair and falling silent.

''Sirius,'' Harry pleaded, very aware of their audience. ''Just listen to me. There's no reason to get like this. Snape isn't... replacing anyone, or trying to be any more than a decent teacher. He's already made that very clear.''

He sighed deeply, his hope drifting as he lowered his voice. ''He makes me feel safe, Sirius. He isn't trying to trick me, or hurt me. He could have finished me off when I got that fever, but he didn't. He helped me. Every single day. I trust him, and there's no reason why you shouldn't as well.''

When Sirius continued to stare directly ahead, not responding outwardly to Harry's explanation, Dumbledore filled the silence with a sigh of his own.

''Gentlemen, if you will remember, we are in a meeting. The requirements of which go above that of your own personal conflicts. However, I believe we are now at an end. If anyone wishes to remain for dinner, I believe Molly is preparing-''

''Wait,'' Snape interrupted, almost urgently. He looked briefly at Harry, warning him not to interrupt, and then lifted himself to his feet. ''I hardly accept that any accusations made to my person, in the case of Mr. Potter, have been rectified. That said, I do not wish to... prolong the matter. However, it is imperative that each and every one of you is aware that I would, and have, stood in the face of death for this boy-''

''Self-righteous bastard,'' Sirius muttered, and Snape was down in his face in an instant.

''Jealousy, Black, is ill-suited to such a depraved man,'' he sneered. ''As I prepare to endure myself, as I witness Harry leaning to you for support, and not I. As I do not pressure him into the solace of my own reclusive care, as we both know I could. Consider yourself a privileged man indeed, to be cleansed enough with your lazy nature, free from burden, in order to receive such affection without guilt, for I cannot do it.''

''Liar,'' Sirius spat, though something uncertain had begun to flicker in his eyes, as such rare, raw emotion was displayed on Snape's face.

''It is not James Potter that would feel such anger on behalf of his son, but you, Black, who should be cowering with shame for administering such pressure, and dim-witted ignorance that disallows you from seeing Harry.''

''I see just fine,'' hissed Sirius.

Snape straightened up with a sneer, eyes flashing. ''Your friend is dead, Black. His carbon copy is not born in his son. They do not share the same instincts, nor the same grudges. If you disappoint Harry, you will not only suffer his inevitable rejection, but the curse of my wand also.''

Perplexed into state of emotional confusion as he watched the scene unfold, Harry didn't receive a chance to call Snape back as the man swept out of the door, black robes billowing behind him. He could barely register the messages behind the heated tones, or what they would mean for the future.

Harry was barely aware of people rising to their feet and moving around him, muttering quietly and casting curious glances in his direction.

He started when a hand nudged his elbow.

''Time for bed, Harry,'' Molly Weasley said quietly, brushing his fringe back from his face with a smile that did not quite reach her eyes. ''I think you've been through enough for one day.''

Sirius was no longer by his side. Snape was absent. Harry felt oddly numb inside, like he had let them both down. He climbed the staircase, ignoring the heavy stares on his back, an absent frown on his face.

Why did it all have to be so damn difficult? Why couldn't everyone like Snape as much as he did? It wasn't like Snape was going to help Harry make a case for himself, when he obviously didn't feel worthy of anything other than a suicidal role within the Order.

Harry eased beneath the sheets of his bed fully clothed, in a room strangely void of both Ron, Hermione, and all other red-headed children. He did not answer Molly when she bid him a quiet goodnight, but he could hear arguments continuing downstairs, echoing up to the floors above him.

His thoughts churned inside of his head, disrupting previously rebuilt walls, until he rolled over, snatched his dreamless sleep from his pocket and gulped down two vials at once. With the high dosage, his mind soon eased, and by the time he'd rolled back over, he was unconscious.

He'd no time to contemplate the coming week, or register the cold, hard panic that was settling in his gut with fabricated mental images of Snape crossing the void back to Voldemort's side, where he did not belong.

Only time would tell what was in store for the man. All Harry knew was that it wouldn't be good.


End file.
